Of Marathons, Ferrets, and Alternate Universes
by JadeBuohler
Summary: Celeste, Eleanor, and Annabelle couldn't contain their deathly excitement with the new release of Sherlock, Season 4, thus bringing them together for a rather intense Sherlock marathon. However, when something unexplainable happens, they find themselves sucked into the world of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and the strenuous conflict of James Moriarty. (OC/Char)
1. Skype Calls

**Yes. I know. I have far too much going on right now, I shouldn't even dream of writing a whole new fic.  
BUT I MUST.**

**I wasn't going to post this, as this is merely a fun story between my friends, but part of me believes it could be enjoyed. **  
**It has good heart and it's going to be a very action filled, exciting fic. :3**  
**If you like Loki, check out my fic Hidden Within.  
****If you like Sherlock, check out my fic Redbeard.  
****Etc, etc, etc.**

**Btw, Celeste is not related to Dean or Sam Winchester. ;)**

_**Please let me know what you think in a review! It will be greatly appreciated!**_

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_**Chapter 1: Skype Calls**_

* * *

The sound was excruciating. Absolutely, undeniably, annoying. With no comparison, not one, as to how irritable it actual was.  
She had always thought so, whenever she used it as a teenager, whether it was studying for school exams, or talking to a parent from across the country.  
The utterly exasperating rings seemed to suffocate your ears, and hinder your ability to think, clouding your mind with swift insults directed particularly harshly at whomever was calling you.

The Skype call had summoned Celeste Winchester from the depths of her mattress, only receiving a groan because of its rather successful attempt at waking her. She was sprawled out, her long, dirty-blonde hair floating like a puddle around her, and dripping down into her face, which was currently stuffed into the softness of her blue-plaid pillowcase. Her slender figure was tucked securely under the warmth of her sky-colored bed sheets, bearing the words, 'I'm a high-functioning sociopath – do your research' thickly in black contrast.

In her uncomfortable position, and reluctance to budge from the coziness of the patterned blanket she was curled into, she kicked several long-lasting stuffed animals from the edge of her bed. She peeked out from the shadowy fortress of blonde hair to gaze irritably at their slouched manner on the floor, their noses and ears drooping over in an attempt to thoroughly obey gravity.

Celeste sighed, and roughly wiped a hand over her face, squishing her nose upward, and wincing as she accidently poked herself in the eye.  
She flew upwards upon realizing the Skype call was still blaring, and hurriedly sprang from the sheets that were so entirely tempting.

She nearly tripped over the length of her pajama bottoms, fruitfully covering the entirety of her feet, which were decorated with the faces of Marvel's Avengers; Hulk growling angrily, Thor 'huzzahing' proudly, Iron Man posing epically, and Spiderman looking frankly done-with-life.  
_Where Captain America and the others were – she didn't know._

She promptly stumbled toward her small dining room table, which was frankly located in the corner of her kitchen, rather forced into the area because of her lack in apartment space. She noticed her computer screen still open and displayed, revealing the caller.  
She groaned, shaking her head with a laugh, and clicking _'Answer Call'_, her finger pushing against the mouse pad attached to the keyboard of her Mac.  
The call connected, and she could hear the faint rustling on the other line.

Celeste smiled widely, and spun around, heading to search through her kitchen cupboards for her favorite mug, eager to have a cup of tea.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Celeste sighed contently, giggling to herself as her friend's laughter bustled through the connection.

She tapped the small, blue button of the kettle, hearing the water begin to heat, and then swiftly turned to face her computer, revealing her grinning friend on the small pop-up image.

"Hello there, Bella." Celeste smirked; preparing her cup for the water that would soon fill it. She smiled, pouring small spoonfuls of sugar into the small mug that read, 'Moriar-tea – that's what people brew', whilst taking glances back at her friend, who was currently trying to correctly position her camera.

"Catch you at a bad time?" Her gentle voice asked politely, even though Celeste was sure it was a tease.

"It's morning." She moaned with a slight nod, "Of course you caught me at a bad time."

Annabelle chuckled, shaking her head on the other end, her long, silky black hair falling gracefully over the darker complexion of her flawless skin.  
"Celeste Winchester, it's noon! I called because I'm on my break."

"Ugh," Celeste groaned, shrugging as she poured the steaming hot water into her _Sherlock fan-based_ mug she'd gotten a few Christmas' ago. "How _long_ have you been up?"

Bella grinned and sighed in exhaustion at her friend's disgruntled state, "I've been up since five. Work starts at six."

Annabelle Lancaster was the most organized, and dedicated person Celeste had ever met. She was entirely satisfied with having unattainable knowledge in any subject, and just so, she always passed with flying colors in high school, where the two had first met. Freshmen year; the two of them were the quietest students in their whole Cambridge – _a skilled, highly difficult, school program_ – entirety. So, they figured they'd just approach each other, seeing as though they were both shy and had a strong dislike for verbal interaction. Needless to say, they became quite great friends.  
By junior year, they were constant study-buddies, pressured into a battle of trying to rid their report cards of dreaded Cs that continued to creep up on them. It was around that time that Celeste had introduced Bella to Sherlock, BBC's outstanding work of art. Annabelle Lancaster complied; before she knew it, she was faced with the conflicted emotions that haunt you throughout the entire show, and chew on the heartstrings further connected to your soul.  
Senior year had been a bunch of fun, meeting new people (yeah, right!), and constantly fantasizing over the show, _that is_ _Sherlock.  
_When college came around, Bella left to study medicine and the sciences connected to becoming a doctor, whilst Celeste traveled out to Orlando, eager to work in animation and perhaps grab the opportunity of working for Disney, even though she mostly wished to publish her own books, one of which had already been distributed throughout the United States. Neither left their precious Sunshine State, Florida of course, mostly because of their closeness to family and love for all that is warm and sunny, _most of the time_.

"I don't know how you stand it." Celeste remarked as she grabbed her mug of tea and sat down in front of the computer screen, her blonde hair disheveled and flopping lazily over her hazel eyes.

Bella grinned and winked softly, "I'm doing what I love and getting paid well for it. I'm happy to get up at six."

Celeste chuckled, eagerly taking a sip of the warm, soothing English breakfast tea.

"What about you?" Bella asked enthusiastically, quite intrigued in what was happening with her friend, out in the big, wide world.

Celeste brought the mug back down and shrugged, "I'm alright. Trying to create this new character for a short film."

Bella lit up at her words, "Cool!"

The lazy blonde shrugged again, "I suppose."

Bella narrowed her eyes, "You suppose?"

Celeste nodded, "Yes. You see, somehow, the only thing I've been able to sketch for the character is a pair of shoes. Nothing else is coming to mind."

Annabelle chuckled, shaking her head while she reached for her phone, located in the background of the image, sitting atop a white shelf.  
_Most likely in her office,_ Celeste presumed.  
The blonde continued to drink her tea, while Bella studied the phone sternly, as if searching for something, and then began typing a few words.

"Who are you texting?" Celeste questioned suspiciously, as she went in for another sip, her words echoing loudly through the rim of the cup.

Bella glanced up at her friend and then back down at the phone. "El. I want to see if she can talk. You think she has work today?"

Celeste shrugged, springing up from her seat at the table and launching herself at the cupboard of goodies in the back of her kitchen.  
"I don't know. What day is it?"

She asked, causing an outburst of giggles on the other end of the line. "It's Friday, Celeste."

The blonde nodded at her friend and sighed gracefully, revealing a box of 'Lucky Charms' from the secluded shelves of her pantry. She then took her seat again, digging her hand into the cardboard prism and shoving a bunch of marshmallow goodness into her mouth.

"If I remember correctly, she usually has Fridays off." Bella uttered, mostly to herself rather than the image of her friend on the screen of her computer. Suddenly, the piercing sputter of a Skype call filled the ongoing silence once again.  
Celeste cringed and quickly answered the three-way call, eager to save herself from death-by-ringing.

A box of all that is Eleanor Williams filled the entirety of both Celeste's and Bella's vision.

"My friends!" She exclaimed happily, as if attempting to hug the screen.  
Bella chuckled at her friend's enthusiasm, whereas Celeste simply groaned in exhaustion.

"Come on, El. It's twelve –" Celeste glanced over her shoulder, still grasping onto the box of cereal, " – twenty-three. How the hell do you have so much energy?"

Eleanor gazed at Celeste blankly and then gave herself a pointed look, "Uh, Libra." She shrugged, referring to her horoscope.

Bella giggled and nodded, "And what is it for us today?"

Both were Libra's, and they acted like it.  
As Celeste has heard Eleanor say a few times too many: _Libras love excitement, new situations, adventure and the unusual. They make friends with people from all walks of life and they are always up to something new and exciting with enthusiasm. Libras are great at getting along with people __– __everyone likes a Libra. They are all about partnerships and groups __– __they are the glue that holds a group together because they are the ones responsible for keeping harmony and peace. Libras have mastered the art of relationships, not just romantic but business, personal, and family relationships just to name a few. No one is able to see another person's point of view better then a Libra.  
_Libras, libras, libras.

But Celeste loved her for it; of course. How could she not?  
Eleanor was one of the most enthusiastic chicks Celeste, and Bella, had ever met. They, too, had met in high school, sophomore year. It was a funny story, as well. The teacher had gotten Celeste's name wrong from the start, and it ultimately led Eleanor to her, in an odd, somewhat confusing way.  
Then Bella and El had been introduced, and _voila_ – their friendship sprouted beautifully.  
Eleanor split as well, when they graduated, eager to get out of little, old Lehigh Acres, and become an Optometrist – basically, an eye doctor.  
Celeste felt a little undereducated around the two, seeing as though she merely went into art and journalism after high school, but the two of them were great and never critical when it came to knowledge of others.

Eleanor proceeded to reading both her own and Bella's horoscope for the day.

"Your big ideas are making life a lot sweeter today — and they're worth exploring further. Your great energy is making life more interesting for those around you, too, so throw a party to celebrate."

Bella clapped both hands at this, terribly ecstatic. "That's on point!"

The exclamation was followed with Eleanor's small remark, _"Swag daddy."_

Celeste rolled her eyes, "What do you mean _on point_, Bells?"

Annabelle grinned and shrugged, "Well, we're still on for tomorrow, are we not?"

Celeste formed an 'o' with her lips and nodded.

She'd forgotten; both Eleanor and Bella were driving down together from Fort Myers to visit Celeste for a day or two – most likely two – because of the recent release of _Sherlock_, season four. The three of them had promised one another that they **WOULD NOT** watch Sherlock until they could all watch it together. Needless to say, Celeste had been growing highly impatient – knees jiggling when she sat still, hands shaking restlessly, nails bitten in visible stress.

As if Bella could read her mind, she spoke softly through their Skype connection, "I am so excited. I've literally already packed my bag."

Eleanor chuckled and nodded, swirling in a circle on her black, wheeled chair, most likely sitting at home in her study. "You got the popcorn?"

Bella grinned widely, her expression glowing in the brightness of her white office. "Yes, ma'am, all ten bags. You got the margarita mix?"

Eleanor 'pshhed' the camera and lifted her hands in the air, "Could you ever doubt me?"

Celeste scoffed and shook her head, "Not when it comes to alcohol."

Eleanor smacked her computer screen in an attempt to abuse Celeste through the connection, and both Celeste and Bella busted into giggle fits.

El smirked and flicked her chin toward the camera, her light, bright blonde, curly hair shimmering as it bounced on her head, "You got the discs?"

Celeste grinned, rose from her seat, dropping her cereal box beside her computer, and rushed over to grab a small, flat case off the living room coffee table.  
She then reappeared in front of the camera, and lifted the object so that it could be clearly seen.  
Both of her friends lit up in excitement, staring wide-eyed at the beautiful product, balancing gently on Celeste's pale hands. It shimmered in the little amount of light shining in through her window, causing the merchandise to glow.  
Both Sherlock and John appeared quite elegant, and wholeheartedly, deadly attractive on the case in front of her.

Celeste brought it to her chest, hugging it carefully, and smiling widely, eager to quote _Lord of the Rings_.  
"My _precious_." She purred, and both girls on her computer screen laughed.

Eleanor spun happily in her chair once more, "Thank the gods!"

Celeste nodded with a few immensely pleased chuckles, and then watched as Bella quickly checked the time, finding it hard to focus through her own laughter. "Crap, guys I've got to go. Break's done." She shrugged, still giggling, which caused her to throw a hand over her mouth as she began to hiccup.

El bit her lip and bobbed her head up and down in acknowledgement, while Celeste mirrored the action.

"We'll all see each other tomorrow, then?" Celeste questioned, with a pleasant grin.

Annabelle turned to Celeste and gracefully nodded.  
"Yes, ma'am! I'll pick up El, and then head to you – just text me your address. I'm going to try to be there around three-ish, four-ish."

Celeste smirked in content, and watched as Bella waved a small goodbye.

"Can't wait to see you two!" Eleanor remarked, waving as well.

Celeste placed her palms on her cheeks, blushing in agreement. "Bye, guys."

They both returned the farewell gesture, and Celeste steadily closed her laptop screen.


	2. Inevitable Flashes

**Anybody mind shooting me a review? :3  
**Just to let me know what you think. ;)  
**Enjoy, things are getting trippy...mannnn. **

**All the best!  
-JB**

* * *

_**Chapter 2: Inevitable Flashes**_

* * *

"Nope. Nope. Hell nope."  
Eleanor groaned as she searched endlessly through her closet, clothes flying to the floor in an attempt to make her carpet thoroughly disappear.

"I thought you packed last night." The soft voice whistled through the speaker of her phone, partially laughing and partially growling.

Eleanor sighed and shook her head, "We can't all be as organized as you, Bella." She teased and removed a white t-shirt she had found online not to long ago, immediately making her mind up when she was reminded of its greatness. It was simply plain, with the most hilarious artwork, smack dab in the middle: _Hagrid_, from _Harry Potter_, wearing bling, sunglasses, and a fur coat; the quotation underneath? – "_Swagrid_".  
Needless to say, it was one of Eleanor's favorite shirts.

"How far away are you?" El asked excitedly, staring down at her chosen outfit, and beginning to remove the pajamas she currently wore.

"Not very far." Eleanor could practically hear Bella smiling through the phone, just as her doorbell sounded, echoing through her rather large abode.  
The curly-haired blonde busted into a bellowing laugh, hung up the phone, threw on her shirt, tugged on her blue jeans, and sprinted towards her front door. She grabbed the handle, swinging it open to reveal a rather "decked-out" Annabelle Lancaster, grinning widely as she took notice of her friend.

"Long time no see!" Bella exclaimed and threw her arms around Eleanor, pulling her into a tight, pleasant embrace.

The bright blonde smirked when they drew back, staring with wide-eyes at the woman before her.  
"Look at you!" She boasted and nodded, surprised with the sight before her.

Bella wore a rather fancy, black skirt, which came up to secure her tucked in white, dress shirt, its sleeves reaching just at her elbows, and making good use at shaping her torso. She had black, shimmering glasses on top of her charcoal colored hair, which hung down in straight strands, curling inward, and stretched down to her chest. Her dark brown eyes were made to pop against her darker complexion, and her lips glowed the faintest bright red. Not to mention, the adorable black heels she currently wore on her 'Cinderella' sized feet.

"You look like you have a business meeting." Eleanor teased, with a wide grin, "Do you?" She added and Bella smacked her on the shoulder.

"I wanted to look presentable. We haven't seen Celeste, in person, since senior year." The dark-haired girl shrugged with a petite smile.

El chuckled and bobbed her head up and down, her eyes widening as she stared down at her own outfit. "Does that mean I should change?"

Annabelle busted into a giggle fit, and shook her head, "No, I'm sure Celeste has missed your humor."  
They both laughed, simultaneously glancing down at her rather odd, and vulgar designed t-shirt.

"Hey, at least you're wearing a bra this time." Bella mocked, sticking her tongue out playfully.  
Eleanor gaped and shook her head in embarrassment, however unable to hold back the laughter breaking her stubborn features.

That was reoccurring theme throughout the three friends, as all throughout high school there would be days where Eleanor would fall incredibly lazy, simply wearing yoga pants, and a school sweatshirt, baggy enough to conceal the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra underneath. Sometimes, she even passed up the idea of wearing underwear, in which case, Bella and Celeste would simply respond with, "TMI, Eleanor. TMI."

With some help, the curly-haired blonde managed to pack her things, neatly in fact, and finally, Annabelle Lancaster and Eleanor Williams were on their way to visit an old friend, and watch the best show in the world.

xXx

"Barley, can you try _NOT_ to be stinky this time. I have guests coming over." Celeste chuckled, scooping her eccentric brown and white ferret from his rather large cage. He squeaked as she lifted him up onto her shoulder, grinning as she skipped lightly to the kitchen, preparing snacks, drinks, and sweets.

Carefully, she filled a bowl with salty, grain chips, and grabbed another to fill it with salsa, spicy cheese, and sour cream; taking hold of them all and placing them on the coffee table. Then she grabbed out three, fancy wine glasses, setting them gently beside the snacks, incredibly eager to have a margarita.

Next, she went in her pantry, pulling out a large bag of mixed candies, and earning a coo from the small creature chilling out on her shoulder.

"Barley, no. You know what sugar does to you." Celeste groaned, rolling her eyes, and shaking her head, whilst pouring the sweets into another, fairly larger green bowl.

Once she'd finished, setting everything neatly on her coffee table, she sighed and took a sip of her tea – her fourth cup today – utterly satisfied with herself. Once she put down her mug, she scurried over to her rather large apartment TV, bending down in a squat position to open the Bluray disc slot.  
Then, – with as much caution as she could conger up – she removed the fragile CD from its place inside the _Sherlock, Season 1_ casing – as the three friends had planned to simply have a _Sherlock_ marathon before getting to the newest season released. Ever so gracefully, she placed it on the slot, pushing in the drive, and watched as her TV lit up, revealing the classic musical theme she had grown so very fond of.

She wiggled slightly, small moans of irritation sounding from the small ferret still sitting on her shoulder, as she danced to the rhythm.

She hummed along, slowly sashaying to the kitchen – elegantly pulling off Moriarty's _'Reichenbach Fall'_ dance, as he approached the crown jewels – her hums filled with slight, '_Buh duh, bup bup bup, ba lah, dah dah!_' while she continued to sway to the amazing melody.

She took eager glances over her shoulder, catching the many images and film work displayed on the screen in her living room, casting the amazing, and deadly attractive expressions and features of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

She couldn't even process how bloody excited she was.  
And then the doorbell rang, and her excitement level raised to at least an eleven on her mental scale of one to ten.

She nearly fell to the floor face first, while climbing over furniture, to reach her apartment's front door, ignoring Barley's feeble attempt to hang on for dear life. She grabbed hold of the handle, flinging the door wide open, revealing two of her greatest friends.

"Domino's pizza: pickup or delivery?" Eleanor's mocking tone was the first thing to hit Celeste's ears, and her grin widened to its full extent.  
The dirty blonde turned to gaze at both: El smirking playfully, and Bella giggling in contentment.

"Mon amis!" Celeste exclaimed, and threw both arms around the necks of the two in front of her, receiving teasingly loud groans and grunts.

"Can't breathe." Bella croaked in exaggeration, and Celeste let out a pleasant laugh.

"There is a strange creature on your shoulder, Celeste, and it's giving me the evil eye." Eleanor uttered into her friends ear, and she immediately drew back, a smile still playing on her features.

She glanced down, observing both her friends thoroughly. Bella looked like an utterly formal Marilyn Monroe, her lips a light red, and her outfit speaking nothing but business. She then turned to Eleanor, who wore the most hilarious Harry Potter merchandise shirt, and blue jeans that fit her figure well, along with cute, pink slip-on shoes.

"Look at you two!" Celeste chuckled, quite positive she looked utterly ridiculous in her black skinny jeans, and purple neon shirt that portrayed the silhouette of her favorite consulting detective. She ushered them inside, giving Barley a pat as to calm him down, having frightened the fur off of him as soon as she'd hugged her friends.

"Welcome to my humble abode."

Eleanor and Bella entered slowly, smiles wide on their features as they gazed around the not-so-spacious area of Celeste's apartment. They stared pleasantly at the neat living room, baring a long sofa that seated three people, black and white in color, set before a wide TV, sitting upon a glass structure that appeared as more of a shelf. Bookshelves laced most of the room, books seeming to have tumbled to the floor; most likely from a rage due to lack of motivation or writer's block from the artist, and author, that lived there. Across from the living room was an open kitchen with white counters, and a black surfaced island smack dab in the middle – not to mention the rather large pantry and long refrigerator tucked in the corners.

"This is nice!" Bella exclaimed proudly, gazing at Celeste with an expression of pride for her friend.

"I try my best." Celeste curtsied playfully, and skipped towards the kitchen, headed straight for the white, porcelain fridge.

"Go ahead and put your stuff anywhere." She added, and soon heard a loud thump come from Eleanor tossing her heavy bag to the floor, and then capsizing down onto her couch. Bella's laughter followed and she did the same.

"Hey!" Celeste snapped at the two of them, "First we need some margaritas and some popcorn, ay?"  
She giggled and her old friends nodded contently, springing upward and dashing to the kitchen.

"But seriously, Celeste," Eleanor began as she tugged the large Margarita mix from the bottom of her bag, causing her extra clothes to pour over onto the floor. "What_ is_ that thing?" She uttered teasingly, pointing to the ferret still sitting on her friend's shoulder.

Celeste chuckled and gave her a punch on the shoulder, "This _thing_, is Barley." She smiled while glancing up at the little brown and white ball of fur, growing steadily sleepy on her shoulder bone.

Bella approached her, twiddling a finger over the top of the animal's fluffy head, "I think he's cute."

Celeste let out a laugh and nodded, "Why, thank you, Bella."

She sent El a playful glare, before going about filling three glasses with water, and trotting over to place them on the table.  
Annabelle followed with the newly popped popcorn, and set it down gently, careful not to let any of the strangely shaped corn fall to the floor, as the bowl was thoroughly over-flowing. Her dark-haired friend glanced up to take note of the image portrayed on the screen of her friend's TV, which currently showed John Watson on the menu screen, happily observing Sherlock's methods.

Bella placed a hand on her heart and swooned teasingly.

Celeste found it absolutely invigorating: the fact that her friend's favorite character in the show was Captain Dr. John Watson, army doctor, who served in Afghanistan.

Eleanor, on the other hand, partially worried her, as she had fallen head over heels for the man that so diligently wanted to destroy both Sherlock and John Watson for the sake of freeing himself of constant boredom.  
Then again, James Moriarty was quite the character, and the nagging idea, in the back of Celeste's head, that the broadcast which had aired at the end of Season 3, could quite possibly mean Moriarty has returned, was driving her absolutely bonkers.  
She remembered the moment she first found out; she had thrown a pillow at the TV and uttered every cuss word that came to mind at the time.  
She turned completely monstrous with rage, torment, and a considerable amount of excitement.

Soon, Celeste, Bella, and Eleanor were sitting before the TV, drinking margaritas, eating popcorn with chips and dip, and laughing laughs that could concern the neighbors.

xXx

They sat through 'The Study in Pink', high fiving one another every time Sherlock looked like a total badass, and 'awwing' every time John Watson was utterly ignorant to Sherlock's method of deduction.

They found themselves partially squealing in both amusement and reluctance whenever a gay joke was made toward the duo, and gasping when either Sherlock, John, or Lestrade did something deafeningly attractive, for example ruffling their fingers through their hair, or giving intimate glances towards another.

Celeste spent every moment basically mumbling the script quietly to herself, not feeling an inch of embarrassment that she had memorized each line of each episode.

Bella spent most of her time watching, wide-eyed, and mouth gaped open, so highly caught up in the action, deductions, and chaos of Sherlock's world.

Eleanor kept fidgeting, knowing full well that Moriarty was behind the taxi-drivers installment in crime, and cooing ear-splittingly loud when his name was shouted at the episode's end by Sherlock's enforcement on the serial killer.

_"MORIARTY!"  
_

They all joined in for that part and relished in Sherlock's expression and his comment to John at the end.

_"__What are you so happy about?"_

The girls shivered.

_"__Moriarty."_

And when the episode came to a conclusion, they jumped up and down with excitement, knowing what they were drawing nearer and nearer to: Season 4.

xXx

The next episode they were faced with was 'The Blind Banker', and that's when things started to get weird.

"Anyone want another margarita?" Eleanor giggled, nearly tripping over the chair she was currently standing up from.

Celeste and Bella shook their heads and glared playfully at their friend.

"No, thanks." Bella sighed, rolling her eyes at El.

"I don't think you need another one, either." Celeste added with a smirk, and quickly pressed play on the disc menu.

The two girls left on the couch, as Eleanor was making more popcorn, stared contently, observing _Soo Lin Yao_ working gracefully on the teapots before her.

"I was always sad she died." Celeste bit her lip, while Bella pouted tragically. "Yeah, I felt bad for her."

Annabelle cringed as the small, nervous boy of a man worked up his courage to approach the beautiful Chinese woman, asking if they could go to the pub together sometime, and then to only be shut down with a, _"I can't. I'm sorry. Please stop asking". _

Eleanor's voice boomed in an echo of mockery from the kitchen, "Oh, rejected!"

Both girls still on the couch turned to the light blonde-haired girl, scowling her way in a glare, "Eleanor!"  
They shouted at her simultaneously, which only sent her spiraling into a fit of giggles.  
They rolled their eyes and focused on the episode again.

Eleanor finally joined them just as Soo Lin Yao went to pull the white sheet off the sculpted museum statue.  
The three friends shuddered, as they knew what was beneath it.

_Chinese number 15, translated through a book to mean 'Dead man'. _

At that moment, as if to purposely frighten the living daylight out of them, the lights in Celeste's apartment flickered.  
All three of the girls tilted their heads upwards, staring with narrowed eyes at the ceiling above them.

"That was weird." Bella mumbled, feeling the need to speak quietly.

The other two nodded, just as the flicker came again. The artificial light stirred, emanating a strange noise: a buzzing that sounded as though a bee was trapped inside its bulb. When it flickered once more, the attention was then directed to the TV screen the three friend's had turned back to. It began to falter, the picture display shaking, cutting to a white screen, and then to normal again. Celeste gulped and slowly got up from her seat, approaching the TV with caution to banging softly on its side, and the Bluray player's disc drive. Nothing was fixed, as the screen continued to flicker, same as the lights.

Now everything was flashing.

The girls clutched onto one another in confusion as they heard the dishwasher beep, the toilet flush, the faucet spring to life with gushing water, the microwave popping open, the stereo turning on and off while playing odd alternative beats, and Celeste's phone binging constantly as the charger worked, then stopped working, then worked, then stopped working.

"What the hell is happening?" Eleanor exclaimed, grabbing Celeste by the wrist and pulling her toward the three of them on the couch, worried she would disappear in the chaos of this current electricity problem.

"I have no flipping clue!" Celeste managed in a shout, tucking her legs under her arms as she repositioned herself on the couch.

Bella leaned over and took both of her friend's arms in hers, locking them firmly, as they peered around the apartment, every single piece of technology seemingly trying to kill them. They all turned their attention back to the screen of the TV, which now no longer played the soft sound of their favorite show, and instead whistled like a broken wave of wind.

"And this is how I die." Eleanor mumbled to herself, squeezing tighter to her companions, their warmth her only comfort.

"Oh, don't be melodramatic!" Bella exclaimed over the rather noisy chaos.

"Guys." Celeste uttered, and both heads of the other two girls turned to focus back on the screen of Celeste's television.

White. Simply white.

It was almost…tempting.  
The white screen seemed to drawn you in, cuddle up to you in hopes of reassuring you that it's display was nothing but an innocent mirage.

Suddenly, Celeste felt as though a vacuum cleaner had gripped onto her every inch of skin, sucking her toward the TV in an attempt of eating her whole.

"Eleanor! Bella!" She exclaimed, as her entire body was lurched forward, flying face first toward the TV.

"Celeste!" Annabelle cried out and went to grab hold of her arm, successfully gripping her fingers around her wrist.

Bella let out a shriek as she two was pulled forward entirely forcefully, feeling as though a vicious current was pulling her in.  
Eleanor leapt forward, holding both now, clutching with all her strength to both hands.

"What in the name of all that is sane is going?" El screamed, observing as both her friends floated in the air toward the screen they had only just been watching their favorite show on.

"I don't know, but don't let go!" Bella yelled desperately, as Celeste only nodded beside her.

At that moment, Eleanor felt her clothes begin to shake, stretching outward as they drifted into the air, facing the pure white, hypnotizing screen.

"Oh, hell no!" She shook her head, just as her body lunged forward, taking both her friends with her, right into the center of the TV display.

They only saw white, felt wind seeping through every arch and corner of their body, and then black replaced the light of their vision.

_The portal to an alternate universe had opened._

* * *

_DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN. Heehee, okidoki. Tell me what you think. ;)_

_A/N: To the reviewer, you were a guest so I can't really direct it personally, I will definitely do a chapter in Annabelle's point of view. :)  
I had already __written this chapter so I couldn't really change it. :) thank you so much for the review, please continue to give me feedback!  
Glad you enjoyed it. :)_


	3. Periodic Tables and Shattered Teacups

**OH yes. Stuff had gone DOWN. More reviews please guys. :3 **  
**I like to know what you think. Makes my day and/or my night. ;)**  
**All the best!**  
**-JB**

* * *

_**Chapter 3: Periodic Tables and Shattered Teacups**_

* * *

Nothing but a prolonged and rather unsettling groan escaped the dirty blonde sprawled out on the hard, wooded ground. She twitched slightly, curling her fingernails along the flat surface beneath her. She tasted a faint, yet familiar, metallic taste in her mouth as she lay there, rather motionlessly.

Flinching faintly to get a grip on where she was, she felt her bare feet, her toes freezing cold and numb, she felt the thin material of her long, black skinny jeans, and the coziness of her bright purple, Sherlock shirt. Sherlock. _Sherlock_!

Her head shot upwards, her long blonde hair following diligently, smacking her back in ferocity, while her eyes widened, taking in her surroundings.  
She spotted a bed, first of all, with rather plain cream-colored sheets, and pillows.  
She then saw framed image of the periodic table and a rather old, ancient image of a strange Chinese – or was that Japanese? – dialect.

A small bookshelf of bright mahogany stood in the corner, baring multiple readings, and miscellaneous items, and also holding the weight of a rather shiny mirror, allowing Celeste to get a good look of herself, positioned belly first on the, also cream-colored, wood floor.

Her face was incredibly pale, but that was normal. What wasn't normal was the open cut, split firmly across her bottom lip. She jerked back in surprise, and placed a finger to it in an attempt to sooth the now very apparent pain.

Upon further speculation, as in eyeing the mirror suspiciously, she spotted the mound of both curly, bleach blonde, and silky, long black hair, folded over limp bodies behind her. She gasped and whirled around, the entirety of their position filling her vision.

Closest to her was Annabelle, so in an attempt to wake her, she clutched onto her shoulder, shaking her furiously back and forth.  
The dark-haired girl jolted awake, peering up at where she was first and then to the woman who had awoken her.

"Celeste?" She questioned, eyes narrowed in suspicion and full-blown confusion. She cringed upon moving to a more comfortable position, on top of her folded knees, when she felt the pain searing from her elbow. She lifted it to reveal a rather nasty scrape, of which blood was oozing down and onto the pale wooded flooring. She gazed up at her friend, noticing her injury as well, piercing her bottom lip, and made an attempt to aid her, her inner-doctor revealing itself.

"Not now," Celeste quickly responded, deducing the motion, "We need to check if El is okay."

Annabelle nodded and flipped over, ignoring her own wound, and now facing Eleanor with complete and utter concern. She mirrored Celeste's action in shaking her awake, which, in turn, worked, and Eleanor's head flew upwards in shock.

"El!" Bella exclaimed, taking note of the third injury between the three of them: a scratch right on top of the bright, blonde's eyebrow, contrasting deeply with her rather perplexed blue eyes. Whilst she managed to sit up, Bella turned to Celeste, holding her by the chin to scope out the severity of the wound.

"_Not too deep._" She whispered, unsure of why, and sent Celeste a reassuring nod.

She did the same for Eleanor, and responded with the same conclusion: not too serious.  
Bella sighed when she noticed the faint contrast of crimson on her white shirt, shaking her head as she observed her elbow once more.  
When she was sure everyone was going to be just fine, Annabelle spoke up. "Guys. Where the hell are we?"

Both Celeste and Eleanor turned to her, eyebrows raised in their own lack of understanding. Getting to her feet, Celeste's eyes darted around the room she stood in, taking notice everything revealing or important. Eleanor and Bella watched intently, straining to get to their own two feet, feeling slightly vulnerable and insecure on the floor of which they new nothing of.

_Something was familiar here,_ be it the periodic table fixture or the appealing color of the bed sheets and flooring.  
But the only thing coming to mind was impossible.  
Frankly, utterly, impossible.  
Incredulously false and lacking ability to happen.  
_Right?_

"Mon amis," Celeste began, taking a deep breath, "I'm being completely serious when I say this,"  
She hesitated but finally finished off her statement. "I think we're in Sherlock's room."

Eleanor and Bella turned to gaze at each other, blink, and then looked back again to their dirty blonde-haired friend, eyes glowing in confusion.

"I'm not supposed to laugh, right?" El asked in a hushed tone of frankly irritable amusement.

Celeste deadpanned and shook her head, receiving a nod from both parties.  
"Think about it!" She exclaimed, still keeping her voice down, "What's the last thing you remember?"

Eleanor swallowed and glanced over at Bella for help.

Annabelle cleared her throat and frowned, "White – white everywhere. We were…vacuumed in…into the…the TV screen." Bella sputtered the words, oddly confused with what she was saying as much as the other two were with just listening.

Eleanor nodded, thinking the whole occurrence over, and then turning to Celeste with widened eyes, "Holy crap, this is phantasmagorical."

Celeste simply blinked, while Bella gazed with narrowed eyes.

Suddenly, their confused silence was broken by the sudden aura of voices booming from behind the closed door they hadn't even bother to pay attention to. Celeste immediately shushed the other two girls in the room, eager to hear whoever was among them.

Her heart nearly stopped beating when she listened to the array of voices.

_"__You took your time."  
_

_"Yeah, I didn't get the shopping."_

_"__What? Why not?"_

_"__Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine."_

_"__You ... you had a row with a machine?"_

_"__Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?"_

_"__Take my card."_

_"__You could always go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left."_

_"__And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?"_

_"__Not interested. I sent them a message."_

Everyone froze.

They knew that dialogue anywhere.

That meant what they thought was **happening**, right now, this **happenstance** they **happened** to **happen** upon, was really **happening**, for the sake of all that **happens** to them, and it was truly, and really, really, **happening**.

Celeste began to shake hysterically, her fingers trembling with every motion she took, closer and closer to the door.

"What are you doing?" Annabelle whispered from behind her, heart constricting as their current state really sank in.

Celeste looked at her, eyes wide, lips pursed tightly together, "What the hell do you think I'm doing?" Her features then broke into a firm, widely stretched grin.

Eleanor reached forward and grabbed Celeste's wrist. "I don't think so!"

Celeste frowned and shook her head in confusion, snatching back her arm from her friend's grasp.

Annabelle nodded, glanced at Eleanor, and then back at the darker blonde, her dainty, pale hand perched and ready on the door handle.  
"El is right, Celeste. We have no clue what is happening right now. I don't think it's a great idea to interact with anything."

Celeste scoffed and lifted both hands into the air, "We do have a clue, Bella!"  
She smirked and went for the door again, "I know what you're worried about, Bells."  
She bobbed her head up and down as Eleanor and Annabelle stared in confusion and concern.  
"You think I'm going to freak out, be unable to keep my cool."  
Celeste twisted the handle and the other two bystanders twitched in regret.  
"Don't worry. I have this all under control." Celeste added, right as she dragged the door open, and twisted out into the hall.

Eleanor peered over at Bella, and face palmed.

xXx

Celeste crept out into the wide stretched corridor, more doors attached to its white walls. She carefully placed one foot after another, cautious to step quietly, without drawing too much attention to herself. She took in the sight currently surrounding her, as she finally surfaced from the long hallway and came out upon far messier surroundings.

Papers scattered every inch of the floor, whilst miscellaneous items littered the shelves of dusty bookcases, or cupboards. The kitchen was visible, the island in the middle completely swamped by experimental tools, like beakers, and testing tubes, and a rather large expensive-looking microscope.

She rounded it, completely in awe with what was before her; things she had fantasized about seeing, touching, witnessing.

Intrigued greatly by a small, blue teacup sitting on a rather tiny coffee table, bearing a small lamp, she picked it up and gazed at it, sitting in her pale hand with such poise and beauty. The idea kept reoccurring in her mind – did _he_ drink out of this? _Him_?

She kept it with her as she neared closer and closer to her final destination, and upon seeing the sight filling the entirety of her vision, she felt every bone, organism, muscle – _you name it_ – turn to dust.

A small fireplace sat, which bore strange thingamabobs, such as a display of a bat and a few beetles, all dead of course, and a human skull sitting wide-eyed, rather comfortably. Strange patterns filled the wallpaper along with eerie décor, like the sculpted artwork of a buffalo head who jokingly wore headphones, most likely added by the owner.

But what made Celeste completely fall apart was the man sitting in one of the two chairs – the black leather one, as she knew all too well – perched upward, utterly still, his fingers arched under his chin in his infamous steeple position. His hair sprawled out elegantly on his head, curls lying every which way as though it had been ruffled in frustration. He wore a slick white dress shirt, tucked into his black slacks, topped off with the most eye-catching, charcoal colored, lace-up dress shoes. A book sat firmly in his hand, and she pictured those brilliantly icy blue eyes scanning the words, while his fingers flipped the pages.

Oh, she knew who it was. And her heart was racing all too quickly.

As though she'd made a noise, which she was sure she hadn't, the man's head whirled over his shoulder, taking in the second presence in the room that he had been completely unaware of. Gray – maybe blue, yet perhaps greens, and twined with gold – orbs shimmered elegantly in the artificial light.

As much as she wanted to, Celeste didn't have the chance to stare long, as she was already letting out the loudest shriek possible, which was probably currently jolting her friend's to their feet. Her hazel eyes glowed in disbelief, widened as much as was physically possible, while the famous, and frankly all too beautiful, detective before her got to his feet, glaring her way in utter confusion and surprise.

Still screaming, she couldn't help herself as she brought down the blue teacup, smacking it clean across the man's head. _So much for poise and beauty. _

"Oh, holy defecation." She squealed, staring down at the shattered, china teacup and the unconscious, still incredibly beautiful creature next to it.

_Why did she do that? Stupid stupid stupid! _  
_Celeste you idiot, you are ridiculous, you are unbelievable, you are…standing next to Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock bloody Holmes!_

A hand on her shoulder sent her leaping sky high in fright, her head spinning to catch Eleanor's amused expression, and Bella's utterly exhausted facial features.

"Under control, huh?" El questioned, nodding her head in sarcastic understanding.

Celeste bit her lip and sighed.


	4. Doctors and Detectives

**Next chapter. I need some more reviews please. Helps me. :D THANK YOU!**  
**Lemme know if you're enjoying it. It is a bit humorous. :3**

* * *

_**Chapter 4: Doctors and Detectives**_

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"What is god's name were you thinking?" Annabelle exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief and heaping amounts of genuine concern.

Celeste shook her head, lifting her hands in the air in honest confusion, "I don't know!"

Eleanor groaned as all three of them stared down at the unconscious being, sprawled out uncomfortably on the floor, his waistline highly thin, and his legs longer than expected. "Great. You knocked out Sherlock flipping Holmes!"

Celeste huffed angrily and shrugged, sincerely lacking understanding as to why she'd suddenly attacked with a teacup.  
"I'm sorry! Okay? I got," She paused, stuttering and desperately searching for the right words, "freaked out."

Eleanor rolled her eyes, staring at her friend incredulously. "Freaked out? So, what? You decide to smash a mug over his head?"

Annabelle moaned in irritation and glared daggers at the two bickering girls, "Enough okay! We don't know what we're dealing with here!"

Eleanor scoffed, thoroughly bemused, "Exactly, which is why Celeste shouldn't go knocking people out in their own homes!"

Celeste dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling letting out a long, "GAH!"  
Eleanor and Bella were both staring at her now, both utterly confused and still basically in their own state of shock.

"Look, I was scared, okay? This guy, this man, this beautiful, magnificent, absolutely, completely enticing, wonderful-"

"Celeste."

"Sorry, right." She took a deep breath, "Anyway, he isn't suppose to exist."

The other two girls nodded and sighed, reality dawning on them, as she had a thoroughly honest point.

The darker blonde let out a huff and gestured to the still unconscious being, "I fantasize over this guy, okay? I just got a little _weirded_ out upon seeing him in front of me."

Bella reached forward and placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, bobbing her head up and down in agreement. "It's okay. We are going to figure this out." They both gazed at each other rather solemnly before hearing Eleanor's soft voice chime in.

"Better do it quickly, because he's coming to."

All three heads fixed their focus solely on the man flinching on the floor, his head seemingly lolling over to the side in confusion and delusion.

"Oh, man. Oh, god. Holy crap." Celeste sputtered, and Bella instantly reached for her arms, holding her in place to keep her from having a mental breakdown. "You just need to chill, Celeste. Okay? Just breathe."

Celeste nodded, but was too consumed in watching the man twitch on the floor, moaning slightly as he struggled to move.

"Now what?" Eleanor exclaimed, shrugging mindlessly as she gazed at her two friends; one seemingly calm, the other visibly spazzing out.

Before either one of them could say another word, footsteps boomed from outside the flat's door. All three heads turned to face its entrance, hearts pounding as they all fell into a rather genuine panic mode.

Eleanor sighed, dropping her shoulders, "We're screwed."

Bella groaned, shaking her head and observing the situation. She took note of the curly haired man slowly awakening on the floor, and then the sound of keys jingling in the door lock.

"I say we hide."

Eleanor and Celeste stared in surprise and frankly disbelief, as their friend grasped onto their arms and dragged them into the kitchen.

"Go!" She whispered the yell toward them and everyone immediately separated.

Bella ducked behind the island bearing all experiment components possible, while both Celeste and Eleanor hid behind the out-stretched walls enclosing the kitchen, out of sight of the living room and those in it. They all merely held their breaths; Celeste gazing with narrowed eyes straight across from Eleanor, while Annabelle poked her head over the texting tubes, and beakers to get a better look at the living room in her view.

They all heard the moans of groans of the man Celeste had knocked out, and then the click as the door snapped open, bearing the sounds of grunting and plastic shopping bags crackling as they were carried inside. A sarcastic comment followed: _"Don't worry about me, I can manage."_

Celeste's eyes widened and she immediately cussed under her breath, grabbing the attention of her friend straight across from her.

"What?" Eleanor mouthed, and the darker blonde instantly read her lips.

"Jo-hn Wa-ts-on" She moved her mouth to the rhythm of the words, silently trying to speak with her friend.

"What?"

"JOHN WATSON." Celeste flinched her head to the wall, indicating towards the person on the other side, and then moved to twitch toward Annabelle.

Eleanor's eyes widened in panic, and she nodded quickly, wincing, as she had no idea what to do with the oncoming fan-girl storm that would brew as soon as Bella made contact with her favorite character.

_"Sherlock?"_

Everybody froze, just as they had before.

_"Sherlock! Are you okay?_" The soft voice rumbled in an echo through the dead silent flat, apart from the delirious man's groans and mumbles, and the girl's own rapid heartbeats.

Celeste listened for the deep baritone that struggled to form words.

"_John_," The second voice stuttered and another long moan emanated from the living room, along with a clatter and squeak of leather crunching together, as if the good doctor was lifting his friend into his black armchair. Celeste turned just in time to see Bella slowly rising from her hiding place, mouth gaping open and eyes widened wholeheartedly.

"_Fudge._" The darker blonde gasped quietly, causing Eleanor to meet her own frightened eyes.

_"What happened, did someone do this to you?"_ John's comforting voice nearly distracted Celeste from the situation at hand, and she immediately focused on Annabelle again, now fully in view if the doctor or detective were to look.

She met eyes with her dark-haired friend and shook her head, telling her not to move, but she simply ignored it.

And then, _exactly_ what she was afraid _of_ happening, _happened. _

_"Who the hell are you?_" The soft voice of the doctor sounded angry now and terribly confused.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Cover blown." She stated – loudly – most likely loud enough that John Watson had heard.

Celeste cringed and slowly stepped from her hiding place, Eleanor mirroring her own movements, Annabelle walking the best she could toward them without stumbling in utter disbelief, until they were all facing four glowing eyes – the two men facing them, one sitting, one standing.

Celeste of course, focused first on the detective staring directly at her, in the manner that he remembered she was the one to knock him out. Now she got a good look at those eyes, and they were even more captivating in person. His eyes seemed to look through her, chewing at the insides of her soul, and stealing away all her secrets.  
Tall, unbelievably tall. Thin, too thin. His face was perfectly sculpted; his cheekbones popping out like the blade of a dagger, sharp and deeply set. Is lips were full, and the perfect color, a light barely noticeable pink.

Reluctantly turning away from the consulting detective, she turned to face the good doctor. He had dusty blonde hair, and utterly wise, dark blue eyes that seemed incredibly friendly, yet could possibly, very well, be harshly stern, and criticizing if twisted in the wrong way, for example out of anger or disappointment. He was also far more magnificent in person than on a TV screen. Currently, he wore a black, long-sleeved button-up shirt, with matching, dark, dark, dark navy blue jeans.

Both men stared in absolute skepticism and thorough disbelief.

Celeste watched as Sherlock's eyes vibrated over her, taking in ever detail, every minor sentence etched into the surface of her skin, most likely forming his deduction utterly precisely.

Eleanor stepped forward, taking a deep breath, and realizing she was probably the best person to speak at this point, as the character that she would surely fan-girl – obsessively – over wasn't here.

"Hey." She began, completely at a loss for what she was supposed to say under these circumstances.  
John glanced over at Sherlock, who was still gazing at Celeste, and the turned back to Eleanor.

"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?" He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, obviously on edge.

"_That'd be nice._" Eleanor muttered and winced, as Celeste let out a groan, snapping herself out of her blank stare.

"Dr. Watson." She cleared her throat, finding it utterly hard to speak at this point.

The doctor raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "How do you know my name?"

Celeste blinked and visibly swallowed, "_You see_, that's a little hard to explain."

John scoffed and shook his head, "I'm not going anywhere, and frankly you're not either, unless you tell me who the bloody hell you are and why you're in our flat."

Sherlock was still silent, still staring flatly, directly at the darker blonde who shifted uncomfortably.

Eleanor bit her lip, "See here's the thing, we don't exactly know how to answer those questions."

John chuckled in disbelief, "Well, I guess you _can_ leave. Of course, after I call Scotland Yard telling them we had a break-in."

Celeste flew forward, whipping her head back and forth in protest to the threat, "_No!_ No."

Eleanor hit her gently with the back of her hand and grinned, "_Hey, why not? We could meet Lestrade._"

John narrowed his eyes, listening impatiently to their conversation.

"_Oh_," Celeste smirked with a small giggle, "That's a _good_ point."

Suddenly, the two girls, of whom were actually being vocal, were pushed aside by the being that had been standing behind them for the longest time, silently observing. Annabelle swayed forward, her hand lifted in the air as she neared closer and closer to John Watson. He stared, utterly confused and thoroughly tense, waiting to see what she planned to do. She simply closed the distance between the two of them and touched a hand to his face. Both were about the same height, and it was quite adorable to watch as she squeezed his cheeks together, gazing at him mindlessly until a wide smile filled her lips. He narrowed his eyes, glanced at Sherlock. then the other two strangers, and then back at the woman before him.

Eleanor groaned and reached forward, tightening her arms around her friend's waist, and dragged her backward and away from her infatuation.  
At the touch, Bella suddenly snapped back into reality, and her eyes widened in horror.

"Oh," She mumbled and turned her gaze back to John, raising a hand and smiling apologetically, though still rather fascinated, "I'm so sorry."

John simply nodded and cleared his throat.

Eleanor placed her friend beside Celeste and sighed, glancing at John with exhausted eyes, "Listen, Doctor. We don't want any trouble. Honestly, we have no idea what is going on."

Before John could respond to the response, his features softening in acceptation, Sherlock straightened himself out, and finally found his voice, the deep baritone sending shivers down Celeste's back.

"I'm on her shirt, _John_."

John Watson peered up at the tall detective, who had yet to remove his eyes from the dirty blonde-haired girl. She gulped as he took a step closer toward her, and another, and then another, until he was standing directly before her, observing every movement or mere flinch.

"I'm assuming that is me." He mumbled, his eyes on her own, hazel gazing up at icy blue, while he pointed to his silhouette displayed fashionably on her purple covered chest. Celeste bit her lip, unable to look away, and nodded.

Unexpectedly, a small smirk tugged at the ends of Sherlock's fairly pink lips, "You knocked me out with a teacup."

Celeste simply nodded again, inwardly murdering herself for growing so flustered. Then again…she _was_ face to face with _the_ Sherlock Holmes.

"I'm rather impressed." He stated, still staring directly through her.

She swallowed, holding her breath.

"You're one, of few people, I've encountered who hasn't been incredibly dull with their first impression." He added, a devious grin thoroughly visible now, breaking his features, making him look almost menacing.

Celeste's eyes widened, "I-I, I – um, th-thank y-you."

The man chuckled at her cheeks, blushing under the embarrassment of stuttering, and backed away, returning to John's side to fully observe the three newcomers. "Why the hell are you on her shirt?" John sputtered, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. Sherlock shrugged, "Haven't the faintest."

Celeste smiled widely, suddenly finding herself oddly fascinated with her feet, which at this point were still bare and oddly pale.

Eleanor cleared her throat and took a step forward, "Can you give us a mo?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, same as John, both sharing a look before nodding hesitantly.

"Great." Eleanor winked, and took both her friends by the arms, pulling them into a small circle of discussion.

_"What do we do?"_ She asked, eyes wide with caution.

Bella and Celeste simply smiled mindlessly, caught up in their bewilderment.

"_Guys!_" Eleanor exclaimed quietly, snapping her fingers in front of both their faces.

Both jolted awake in suspicion and shock, clearing their throats and nodding intently.

"_Right_, yes. _Right._" Bella mumbled and squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the problem at hand.

Celeste sighed and shrugged, gazing up at both of her friends with a pleasant smirk, "Why don't we just tell them the truth?"

Bella gaped while Eleanor arched a brow.

"What, and end up in a mental facility?" El snapped, shaking her head in disapproval.

Celeste huffed and lifted her hands to better explain the idea. "Look, this is _Sherlock Holmes_ and _John Watson_ – the _detective duo_ that goes after _giant hounds and psychopaths._ Will _our story_ really sound that insane?"

"Hey! _Moriarty is not a psychopath_, he's just…_misunderstood_." Eleanor spat out, pouting as her friends gazed at her blankly.

"_Right_. Anyway, sound like a plan?" Celeste asked with a small reassuring smirk.

Bella sighed and nodded, "What choice do we have?"

The three of them spun around to stare at the two men watching them intently.  
Celeste glanced at Eleanor, who nodded, and then at Bella who smiled wearily, and then began, directing her line of sight straight at John Watson.

"My name is Celeste Winchester, and this is Eleanor Williams and Annabelle Lancaster. We got sucked into our TV – how? I have no flipping clue – and frankly I'm beginning to think we are in an alternate universe, you know, like all Doctor Whoey and stuff. We woke up in Sherlock Holmes' bedroom, I freaked out and hit him in the head with a teacup, knocking him unconscious, and then voila – you showed up."


	5. Stop Deducing Me

**So sorry for the wait guys! Please hit me with some reviews!  
They really boost my motivation and chapters come quicker as a result!  
Thank you so much to everyone keeping up with the story! :3  
Hope you like this chapter! It is rather long soo...  
And in case you are wondering, Celeste is me... :D  
Sorry if they are a little OOC.  
Personally I feel John is...  
Oh well, I tried my best!  
Love you all!  
-JB**

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_**Chapter 5: "Stop Deducing Me"**_

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Both men simply stared in complete, and utter disbelief; skin blanching, and eyes bulging. Celeste appeared the same, in her own confusion, as she realized just how, frankly, insane she must have just sounded. _Oh, great job, Celeste. Now you've got a real chance with the consulting detective_. She rolled her eyes, inwardly, and let out a long sigh, still waiting for either the doctor or the genius to respond. She glanced over at both her friends, who stood unbelievably still, merely observing as well, eyes squinting slightly, as if internally praying for the two men to understand their bewildering explanation.

Clearing her throat, Eleanor stepped forward, the first to speak, "It's the truth. We may sound like buffoons, but it _is_ the truth."

Celeste watched as Sherlock swallowed, an eyebrow arched as his eyes turned to simply stare down at the ground, as if contemplating what she had just said, and leaving Celeste's mouthful on replay. John only stood straight, staring widely at the three girls, eyes looming over Annabelle more than anyone else, as if hoping she had a better choice of input. Celeste tapped her bare foot on the ground, her toes curling inward due to the awkwardness of the one-way conversation and infinite amount of confused glares.

"I think I should check out those injuries." John's soft – and rather caring – tone of voice knocked her from her thoughts and the appearance of her nail-polish-chipped nubs.

Eleanor groaned from behind, shaking her head at the fact that John just didn't understand.  
**Don't get them wrong**, they were absolutely **thrilled** and flat out **fascinated** to be in the world of **Sherlock Holmes**, but the question of **how** they got there still loomed near, and the **slight worry** that they may not be able to **get back**.

Annabelle stepped forward and smiled generously up at John, who hesitantly returned the kind expression.  
"Have you got any bandages? I've hurt my elbow." She lifted it for him to see, and he took notice, wincing slightly at the scraped up mess, and then nodded, flashing her a polite beam.

He flicked his head toward the direction they'd originally sprouted out of, and Annabelle sent a quick glance toward her friends, eyes lighting up in excitement. And of course, she followed the doctor down the hall. Celeste grimaced as Eleanor stood still behind her, just before tapping a finger forcefully on her arm. She stared at the darker blonde with a face that said, 'we'll talk about this later', and then trotted off in Bella's direction.  
Celeste sighed and bobbed her head slightly before looking away from the now empty hallway, El had disappeared behind, and back forward again.

She froze. Her eyes landed on the calculating orbs of Sherlock Holmes, glowering at her in both intrigue and curiosity. With a highly visible swallow, she shifted uncomfortably and forced a rather lame smile.

His eyes narrowed, "Perhaps you should follow your friends,"  
His voice was rather mocking, and his eyes seemed deadly and relentless, "Your lip is not in the best of conditions."

Celeste gulped and nodded, then shook her head soon after. "I'll be alright."  
_Hey, at least she didn't stutter this time._

Sherlock smirked rather mischievously, his eyes dropping to observe her from head to toe. She stayed completely and utterly still, aware of what he was doing.

"Doctor whoey, huh?" He questioned, squinting in suspicion, as he stood with his hands neatly folded behind his back, wrapping gently around his black suit.

Her eyes dropped to his shoes. _Oh Loki, how she loved those shoes._

She cleared her throat and brought her full attention to the colorless orbs staring down at her, from a six feet tall height, finally bringing herself to collect her fan-girl macho and actually breathe.

"Yes, as in, the Doctor." She wasn't sure if this was a good thing to speak about with the consulting detective, but she couldn't stop the spewing words.

"The Doctor?"

"Hmm, yes, the Doctor."

"Well, Doctor who?"

Celeste snorted, "Exactly."

She didn't receive an answer: just an inquisitive gaze, and an arched eyebrow. Those exquisite, grey-blue-green-gold eyes danced over her body once more, and she found herself growing highly self-conscious. After all, her fictional crush was standing merely a few feet away from her.

"Stop that."

She immediately regretted the words.

He jerked back, appalled, "_What_? Stop what?"

Celeste groaned playfully, "_Deducing._ Stop deducing me."

The tall man seemed genuinely shocked by this, but nevertheless, he lit up in a sort of supreme, and sincere, sign of gratitude, intrigue, and…temptation?

"You know my methods?"

"Of course I know your methods! I've tried to perfect them for years. But alas, I can't think as fast as you." Celeste's tone of voice was distant, as though she was dramatically sighing at the truth of her statement.

Sherlock raised a brow, and she was pleased to notice a small tug upward on the corner of his lips.

"That is oddly," He paused, and Celeste waited patiently, eyes wide in expectance, "rewarding." T

he blonde scoffed and shook her head, folding both arms across her chest, "Come, now. Don't get sentimental." She was utterly relieved to see that her small, inside-joke (with herself, frankly) had made the consulting detective break into a full out smirk. Celeste mentally patted herself on the back.

xXx

Annabelle couldn't stop staring at the short man before her, his face glowing as he passionately performed what he had sought coverage in as a career. She sat on the counter of the flat's bathroom, John before her, treating her elbow wound, while Eleanor sat on the lid of the toilet seat, watching contently, awaiting her turn. Frankly, both were relishing in excitement.

"I'm a doctor too, you know." Bella smirked as John peered up at her with wide eyes, and a bright smile.

"Really?" He let out a soft chuckle, "So I could have given you all this stuff and you would have known what to do? I feel like an idiot."  
His tease caused Bella to grin in admiration.

"I like to watch you do it." She immediately blushed and winced, hearing her words aloud, and feeling absolutely shameful. "What I meant was-"

Eleanor cleared her throat and cut her off, "So! _Doctor Watson,_ you still think we're crazy?"

Eleanor had very well given John a full outline on their lives, and their knowledge of both the blogger and his detective friend. John had been shocked into disbelief, and frankly, in Bella's opinion, he took it pretty well, apart from the whole five minutes of silent staring, of course.

"I suppose it is rather believable, with all the evidence you have presented to me, but to be honest, I still find it highly impossible." John sighed and smiled wearily, nodding his head as Bella bit her lip. He smoothed out the bandage he had placed on her bloodied elbow, and clapped his hands together pleasantly.

"There. All better." His eyes sparkled as he stared up at the timidly unique, dark-haired woman, smiling innocently. S

he quirked up the side of her lip in hesitation and cocked her head to the side, "Thank you, Dr. Watson."

The doctor scoffed, "_John,_ please."

Bella blushed, "John."

Eleanor blinked, watching the two of them with a brow arched highly, as their gazes simply stayed fixed on one another. "  
My turn?" The interruption was effective, as Bella flinched and John turned his attention to the blonde.

"Yes, of course!" He exclaimed, and Eleanor beamed, trading places with Annabelle. The doctor began wetting a cloth, and dabbing Eleanor's slashed eyebrow.

"So, Bella, you said you were a doctor?" John directed his question to the small woman who had gone quiet as she sat on the toilet seat.  
El grinned faintly, observing how Watson was obviously drawn to her.

Bella nodded shyly, "Yes, I went to university to study the medicines. I mostly work with kids," She paused and let out a giggle, "but sometimes runny noses can be a bit much. That's when I take on more adult cases."

John chuckled and nodded, completely comprehending where she was coming from.  
"And you? Eleanor?" John questioned, smiling politely as he turned his attention back to the patient at hand.

Eleanor grinned, "I'm an optometrist, and you can call me El."

John raised his eyebrows, "Eyes, huh?"

El nodded proudly, "Yes siree! They are fascinating!"

Dr. Watson scoffed and shrugged, "I suppose so."

Eleanor bounced happily, "_Swag daddy_."

Bella shot Eleanor a glance, utterly glaring at her for using her _hard-to-understand_ lingo around her fictional crush, but El only smiled wider.

John bobbed his head up and down, "_Right_."

He reached into his first aid kit for a small bandage, and began to unwrap it, "And what about your friend? _Celeste_, was it?"

Bella nodded in confirmation and glanced over at Eleanor, clearing her throat softly, "Yes. She's an artist, really."

John raised both eyebrows and laughed, "You three really are a strange bunch."

Eleanor giggled and nudged Bella's arm, "She left out a minor detail."

John narrowed his eyes and shook his head with a shrug, "What's that?"

Annabelle squinted in suspicion at what her friend was up to, as the blonde turned back to face the good doctor. "She has a _MAJOR_ crush on Sherlock."

John seemingly lit up, light a firecracker on New Year's Eve, everything glowing as he watched the two girls, one grinning widely and the other scowling in resentment. "You're jesting me." John scoffed sarcastically and shook his head once more, utterly disbelieving.

El lifted both hands, "Totally serious."

John let out a loud chuckle, and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I am honestly positive that Sherlock is asexual, not to mention quite the bastard, but if that girl can break him, I will literally serve her till the end of my days."

Bella couldn't hold in the giggles now stubbornly protesting to be released, and Eleanor was already in tears of pure amusement.

"Speaking of which," El began in between hiccups, "Should we have left the two alone?"

Bella turned to her and raised both eyebrows, "Perhaps not."

xXx

"_So_?" She shrugged, and the detective exhaled irritably, as if angered that he had to question her.

"So, _what_?"

"What did you _deduce_?"

Sherlock gave her that same crooked smile and her heart fluttered, "You told me to _stop_ deducing."

Celeste grinned and nodded, "Yeah, I did, but I know you got what you were looking for."

Sherlock seemed to stiffen, as if slightly flustered, and Celeste narrowed her eyes for a moment, upon the belief that he had just, faintly, blushed.

He cleared his throat, and was suddenly glaring at her in his normal arrogance and pride, "Well, of course your accent tells me you're American-"

"Oh, brilliant. Is that all?"

"_No_. If you'd allow me to finish?"

Celeste smirked at his cocky attitude, and gestured her hand outward, awaiting his continuance and ushering him on.

"So, granted, you're American. But what state? From the outlook of your skin color, which is pretty pale with just a slight tan, I'd say you don't go out in the sun too often, but how's that help us with the state? Well, your other two companions are far tanner than you and their appearance informs me your current living location must be sunny, incredulously sunny. Immediately, when I think of sun, I resort to the Sunshine State. Simple."

Celeste's eyes widened slightly, but she kept composed, shrugging carelessly at his frankly brilliant words, "Could be California."

Sherlock grinned and shook his head, "Yes, that was one of my observations, Florida or California, but by just simply looking at the three of you, you certainly do not have that California flare."

Celeste narrowed her eyes, and placed both hands on her hips, "_Hey,_ what's that supposed to mean?"

Sherlock only smirked and raised both eyebrows, "May I continue?"

Celeste swallowed and nodded, her eyes still glowering as she pushed a small dirty-blonde hair from the side of her cheek.

"The way you dress, walk, and talk screams 'University'. I'd say, perhaps, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You're not wearing much make-up, which means you do not divulge in the outlook of others upon you; other opinions are not so important to you when it comes to yourself. Low self-esteem or simply ignorance?"

Sherlock seemed to finish with a question, but Celeste was unable to answer. Her heart was cringing with each word, and her eyes could do nothing but stare in fascination, drying up rather quickly in the cool air of the flat.

"Then comes your occupation."

Celeste blinked and shook her head, "Sorry, my what?"

"Occupation. The way you dress, even merely the style of clothing and the art upon your shirt – not sure why I'm on it, which is frankly aggravating – indicates that you are highly creative, and rather artistic. Not to mention,"

Celeste cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably.

"Your fingers," Sherlock paused when Celeste looked down to observe the body part he was referring to. "They are tinged with a faint shade of color, blue and green it seems, and appear rather chalky. From this, I deduce you were sketching earlier today, and coloring with powdered pastels."

Celeste gulped, and watched her feet as he continued.

"So, you're still practicing art. Most people, who have found an otherwise more stressful occupation, wouldn't have enough time to further explore their hobby, in the many hours that you take to do so, judging by the faint signs of exhaustion beneath your eyes and the depth of color on your fingers. This can only mean you are currently working in a profession that requires your artistic ability. Perhaps you work in design? Either way, it is an occupation revolving around art."

Celeste took a deep breath inwards through her mouth, and outwards through her nose. _Yup, just as amazing as she knew it would be. Perhaps better._

"You're right. You're absolutely right. Never doubted you though." She shrugged at that last part and smiled innocently, and rather charmingly.

Sherlock straightened up in utter self-satisfaction, and watched as Celeste smirked slightly, letting out a small laugh of disbelief. After a moment of silence, mostly the rather tall blonde trying to decode the translation of Sherlock's deduction, he spoke up, "Well?"

Her hazel eyes flashed up to meet his own strangely colorless ones, and she froze, "Well, what?"

He sighed, clearly falling impatient, and then cleared his throat, "Give me a brief summary of yourself. Did I miss anything?"

Celeste grinned and shrugged yet again, "I don't see how you could of, but I guess I can hit you with a crash course of _me._"

Sherlock seemed genuinely interested, and it was rather unsettling, but Celeste took a deep breath and began, "I love art. Always have, always will. It's basically to me like drugs were to you. You know, a way to clear your mind, feel free."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he opened his mouth slightly, before closing it, and then opening it once more, "H-how do you know…" He trailed off, shaking his head and visibly swallowing.

I shrugged and shooed the idea away, "Not important, don't worry about it." Sherlock arched a brow, and, quite surprisingly, took my advice, ushering me on instead.

"Currently, I work as an animator for _Disney_. You know, creating short films, rough sketches of new characters," Celeste paused, smiled, and then went on, "That reminds me…you did, in fact, miss something."

Sherlock perked up and took a step forward, "What?"

Celeste grinned mischievously and giggled a rather girlish giggle, "I write. _Passionately_."

Sherlock raised both eyebrows this time, seeming genuinely surprised and – uniquely – impressed.

Celeste smirked in satisfaction and continued, "I have published one book, and I am currently working on the second. I have nine stories collectively, and my ultimate dream is for them to be recreated in a motion picture."

Sherlock scoffed and nodded his head, rather taken back, "How silly of me." He seemed sincerely angered with himself, "Stupid, _stupid_. That should have been staring me right in the face."

Celeste stifled a laugh, but succeeded terribly, the manner coming out more like a loud snort.  
Sherlock watched, eyes narrowed, seemingly amused by her flustered appearance, yet oddly exasperated.

"I'm sorry," She apologized weakly, and hid her face by looking down, each strand sliding to hang rather effortlessly.

When silence carried on, and Celeste was simply staring at the floor in embarrassment, Sherlock shifted, obviously uncomfortable, turning to stride toward the living room. The blonde's head shot up and she stared hopelessly. "Do you believe me?"

The consulting detective whirled around, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed in a lack of comprehension. "Sorry?" He paused, "About what?"

Celeste took a few steps towards him, careful not to scare the brilliant mind off. "Me, my friends – you know, an 'alternate universe'." She waved her hands in the air, as if to put a sci-fi feel onto it, and watched as the detective smirked.

"Perhaps. There are some things you say that cause me to second-guess myself; the self that says these three women are absolute loons." He glowered at her mockingly, and she rolled her eyes before sighing rather solemnly.

With that, he approached her, standing a mere few feet from her before whispering, "_Deduce me._"

She stiffened and her eyes widened in disbelief, "I'm sorry?"

"_Deduce me._" His eyes seemed to flicker with excitement, as the smirk continued to pull at his lips. "Perhaps then, I'll believe you."

Celeste swallowed, "I can't."

"Oh, please. Don't be dull, Celeste."

Celeste scrunched up her nose at the detective, after shuddering from hearing the deep baritone say her name, and groaned, seemingly giving in. "Fine."

Her eyes shifted up to his own, and then ran down the rest of his tall figure, acting as though she were really gathering information, even when she could merely pull it from the small box in her mind that was titled, _'The Sherlock Obsession"._

"Your full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You've got a brother, named Mycroft, who works for the British Government. You're in your early 30s, and you work as a consulting detective; you're the only one in the world, you invented the job. It means that when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult you." The blonde inhaled sharply, "You are far from amateur, as your deduction skills are impossibly brilliant," Celeste paused, "Not sure if that counts, as that's more my opinion."

Sherlock only stared. _Had she startled the great Sherlock Holmes?_

With self-gratification, she continued, "You met John Watson at Bart's, introduced by an old colleague, Mike Stamford. There, you deduced him and he was immediately drawn to you, mostly because he lives for dangerous situations. You cured his limp on the taxi driver case, which John ultimately likes to think of as the 'Study in Pink', and he shot the cabbie for you."

Celeste hesitated, thinking it best she didn't bring up the whole 'Moriarty' deal.  
She took a glance at Sherlock's absolutely blank expression and suppressed a laugh, "From that day forward, you two remained 'flat mates'!"  
She sprang forward happily, pleased with that idea, always content with the idea of John and Sherlock and their amazing friendship (bromance?).

Her face then fell slightly flat, yet her eyes squinted curiously at the detective.  
Now, she began to opinionate her own thoughts and conclusions, "You are and have always been a lonely man, driven to the shadows by cruel words and the stupidity of others that frankly just, do. Not. Understand." She pronounced the words and watched as Sherlock flinched slightly. "You were able to afford the flat all by yourself, you didn't need a flat share to keep it up, but John Watson was finally a person who understood, who comprehended and appreciated your divine way of thinking." She then smiled charmingly and shrugged a soft shrug, "In which case, just so you know, so do I."

Sherlock blinked, narrowed his eyes, and swallowed, highly mystified.

"So, Sherlock, when I say I am from an alternate universe, I mean it, and I hope that is proof enough to gratify the statement." Celeste let out a chuckle and sauntered past the rather distraught detective, to plummet firmly down in his leather chair.

She instantly took in the sweet smell: a sort of fresh earthy sensation, mixed with the chemical workings of a science experiment.

After at least a full minute had passed, the curly-haired man regained his courage and self-esteem, turning around to stare down the lanky blonde, sprawled out, eyes closed, on his chair.

He finally made a noise by clearing his throat and taking a step forward, "One question."

Celeste looked up expectantly, large hazel eyes adorablely gazing his way. "What's that?"

The detective swallowed and narrowed his eyes, "What is _John's_ middle name?"

Celeste grinned widely and scoffed, shaking her head in utter bliss. _This was too easy. She studied more for Sherlock episodes than half of her school tests._

"Hamish."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he smiled rather extravagantly, the magnificence of his white teeth breaking his blank features. He let out a sharp laugh, glowing in admiration and amusement, as he plopped down into John's red armchair, facing the blonde peculiarly. "Took him ages to confide in me!"

Celeste sighed lovingly and shook her head, rolling her eyes to the side, "No, Sherlock. You found his birth certificate, after quite a while of guessing."

Sherlock grinned mischievously and nodded, "So I did. I simply used my resources."

Celeste bobbed her head up and down, and fixed her position on the couch, wiggling to get comfortable in the smell of Sherlock Holmes.

"Well, that settles that."

"Sorry?" She replied to his smooth words.

"Well, that was proof enough."

She blinked and arched a brow, "Proof for what, exactly?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned, however still bemused, "I believe you."

* * *

_A/N: Please, please, please leave a review!_


	6. Secret Tattoos and Side-Cases

**Sorry for the wait guys!  
Trust me, I got yelled at by my friends for it. xD **  
**They were dying for chapter 6! :)  
PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!**  
**Review and follow and favorite!**  
**Love you all!**

**Thanks for everything  
and all the best!**

**-JB**

* * *

_**Chapter 6: Secret Tattoos and Side-Cases**_

* * *

Bella, Eleanor and John just about flew from the bathroom, eager to take notice of their companions; a rather stubborn, and arrogant consulting detective and a highly blunt, and rather sarcastic dirty blonde. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary: Sherlock sat in his usual leather chair, laptop resting on his legs, while Celeste simply sat in John's own red sofa, legs folded as she caressed the violin in her hands.  
John, same as the other two girls, raised his eyebrows in confusion and a rather impressive amount of suspicion.

"Sherlock," He began, but his softened features were instantly hardened when he took notice of the computer Sherlock was furiously typing on.  
"Is that my laptop?"

Sherlock didn't budge – just continued to type away.

Eleanor swallowed and glanced over at Bella, who merely shrugged.  
Though inside, Annabelle was rooting for John in this oncoming domestic.

"Of course." Sherlock stated in a grunt, causing just about everyone to raise their eyebrows in surprise – well, as surprised as they could get (this was Sherlock after all!) – except for Celeste who seemed rapidly impacted by the shimmering mahogany of the dusty violin.

"What?" John scoffed in utter disbelief, drawing nearer to his flat mate now.

"Mine was in the bedroom." Sherlock shrugged.

Eleanor suppressed a giggle, noting how he said _the bedroom_, and not _my bedroom. _Annabelle seemed to notice when she took a peek at her good friend, her face a bright flushed red and her eyes bulging in amusement. She slapped her across the shoulder and threatened her companion's mind-in-the-gutter situation with a shake of her head.

"And you couldn't be bothered to get up?" John huffed, obviously exasperated with the predicament.

Sherlock didn't bother to reply.

"It's password protected!" John exclaimed, lifting his hands in the air in utter exhaustion, and letting out a rather prolonged groan of irritation.  
Celeste shifted oddly on the couch, while Sherlock angled his body slightly away from the laptop and toward his flat mate.

"In a manner of speaking; took me less than a minute to guess yours."

Before the detective could finish, with a statement Celeste knew all too well, the dirty blonde was whirling around to stare down John with a bemused expression of both pride and surreal wisdom.

"Not exactly Fort Knox." Celeste smirked and went back to beaming at the violin, wrapped delicately in the palms of her hands, receiving a rather fascinated gaze from the detective, before John moaned in frustration and stormed over to snatch away his computer, "Right, thank you."

Eleanor and Bella stood beside each other awkwardly, eyes blinking in both uneasiness and mock. John stood uncomfortably in the middle of the living room, staring somewhat longingly at his armchair, of which Celeste currently sat on, appearing as though she wasn't influenced to move.

"Sherlock." He sighed and blinked, before glancing at the three women in his flat, two standing eerily still, and the other fiddling with violin strings. "Are we going to talk about this?"

The consulting detective scoffed and shook his head, hands steeped below his chin, in his normal prayer-like position. "Dull."

John groaned and shrugged his shoulders effortlessly, "I mean," He paused when Sherlock narrowed his eyes in confusion, and then discreetly flickered his head in the direction of the three girls.

The detective's eyes lit up and he smirked mischievously, "Oh yes. Let's, John."

John squinted in both confusion and hesitation as the curly-haired man got to his feet and jabbed a finger at the dark-skinned girl, standing still in her tight business skirt, and beautifully hemmed white dress shirt, now slightly ruffled from all the action and dirtied with faint traces of fallen blood.

"Her." He snapped, and shot up to his feet, "She's a doctor judging by the business-like appearance, and the calloused and frankly entirely bare seeming hands, meaning she washes them frequently. Not to mention, the hint of disinfectant, quite a rich smell, I know it anywhere."

His speech was spoken at the speed of light, and all three girls were frozen in disbelief, the lesser of them, Celeste, knowingly more relaxed, as she had already experienced this once. But it was still utterly incredible.

"You, same as this woman here," Celeste shivered when he pointed to her, "recently graduated from a university; I'd say you're a year older than Ms. Winchester, been friends since high school by the comfort you seem to take around both of your companions, however, you seem slightly hesitant, causing me to believe you do not live close. Long-distance friendship, then."

Annabelle blinked in utter lack of comprehension, mind officially blown.

Eleanor only grinned widely, seemingly pleased with this man's science of deduction, until he suddenly pointed to her.  
She froze as he took a deep breath, "You. You're the same; met these two in high school. You are a year older than both, and work as a," Sherlock paused, eyes narrowing while he scoped out the woman's entire feeble stance.

Clearing his throat, he nodded to himself, "_Eyes_. I'm getting _eyes_."

Eleanor bobbed her head up and down, gob-smacked, "Optometrist."

Sherlock grinned, "Precisely."

Celeste laughed at the fact that Sherlock talked to her friend like he had complete and utter control of her life – as if she could only be an optometrist if_ he_ said so.

Sherlock's colorless orbs vibrated over her once again, and this time he smirked, rather mischievously. "You have a secret tattoo."

Annabelle whirled to face her friend, eyes bulging in disbelief, while Celeste's jaw dropped to the ground, her finger tightening around the neck of the violin as she, too, turned to face the lighter blonde.

"You have a what?" Bella mused, shaking her head in utter, and genuine, shock.

Eleanor only bit her lip, eyes wide with embarrassment and regret.

"When were you going to tell us, El?" Celeste giggled, grinning wider than she thought possible at her friend's rosy red cheeks.

John was merely observing, mouth slightly open as he watched the scene play out, while Sherlock only smiled contently, turning back around to sit in his leather chair.

Eleanor groaned and shrugged irritably, "I was drunk, okay?"

Celeste burst into more obnoxious giggles, "Of course you were."

Bella tsked and shook her head in disapproval, "What is it?"

Eleanor reddened even further, shutting her eyes to hide the embarrassment.  
"A lightning bolt."

Now, Celeste was breaking out into full-blown barks of laughter. Bella couldn't help the smirk tugging at her lips ether, mostly because of how hard her friend was giggling, so much so that she had resorted to irritable hiccups.

"Like Harry Potter?" Annabelle asked with raised eyebrows, trying to keep an utterly straight face.

Celeste simply cried out in amusement.

Eleanor growled and nodded.

Sherlock was quite bemused now, watching the dirty blonde lurch over in uncontainable laughter, while John only stood observing, doing the same as Bella: trying to keep a completely straight face, and failing quite miserably.

"Oh, would you two shut it?" Eleanor groaned and rolled her eyes, crossing both arms over the length of her torso.

Annabelle shook her head, seemingly saying, 'We are not dropping this', and immediately took a deep breath to speak, "Where is it?"

When Eleanor hesitated to respond, Bella instantly regretted asking the very question, "Never mind. Forget it. I don't want to know."

Celeste was silent now, staring wide-eyed, her mouth literally hanging open as she watched El blush.  
Then, as if on queue, she busted out into far more uncontrollable giggles.

John took their ignorance as a moment to discuss the matter at hand more professionally. He planted a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, and the detective turned to face him, brows furrowed as John flinched his head toward the kitchen. Sherlock then rolled his eyes, sighed irritably, and followed the blogger into his laboratory, the counter riddled with testing tubes and beakers.

**ooo**

"What?" The consulting detective snapped impatiently, as the doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Are you bloody serious?" John asked with a huff of disbelief.

Sherlock merely shrugged.

"Sherlock, we have three young women in our flat claiming that they are from another world!"

"Alternate universe."

"What?"

Sherlock grumbled, obviously agitated that he had to repeat himself. "They said they were from an alternate universe, not exactly another world."

John let out a groan of frustration, shaking his head at the nerve of his flat mate. "So what, you believe them then?"

Sherlock glanced upward and pursed his lips, seemingly attempting to shrug, yet again. "I have been convinced."

John laughed a soft laugh of bemused aggravation and leaned back to catch a glimpse of the women in his living room. The small dirty blonde was marveling over Sherlock's violin, while the taller lighter blonde stared wistfully at Sherlock's skull, and the other, the dark-skinned beauty with the brilliant charcoal black hair, stood faintly timid, taking in the appearance of her entire setting.  
John snapped himself out of it, quite aware that he was eyeing her figure, and smiling foolishly over her shy persona.  
Sherlock seemed to notice and smirked mischievously, aware that his doctor wasn't overly sure he wanted the three women to leave.

"Let them stay, John."

John turned to the detective with raised eyebrows, "What, really?"

"I don't see why not."

"I just thought, of all people, you wouldn't be willing to share your…well, area."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in disgust and shook his head, "John, you're making me sound pitiful."

John snorted and sighed, "Seemingly so."

Silence overtook the duo, both paying close attention to the three strangers in their flat, observing every inch of the room with a hint of utter shock.  
Sherlock's deep baritone suddenly rang out again, jolting John from his gazing.

"They will be a side-case, John."

John narrowed his eyes and shook his head in confusion, "Sorry?"

"A side-case. My own little investigation."

John took a step back at the sudden seriousness in his best mate's tone of voice. He sounded almost…sinister. Like a mad scientist with his phenomenal project. But John was used to the abnormality of the detective at this point.

"Is that the only reason you're going to let them stay?"

Sherlock was quiet.

"I mean, they could easily find an Inn to-"

"They intrigue me." Sherlock uttered, interrupting John as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

John froze, and raised one of his own, watching the consultant with suspicious notion. The detective's eyes were not moving, per usual. Instead, they were fixed on a certain someone, and John turned to follow his line of sight, immediately finding himself staring at the tall, lanky dirty blonde, her eyes burning with passion as she continued to caress the violin strings. John leaned back in surprised, and found himself smirking goofily.

"I see." He muttered and Sherlock turned to gaze at him suspiciously.

Sherlock seemed to realize the claim at that point and immediately fell appalled by the accusation. "Don't be ridiculous, John."

John scoffed and shook his head, "Course not."  
His sarcastic tone was unraveling, and Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders at the uncomfortable situation.

"We will study them, John. Find out what they know, about you and about me. What they know about our future."

John narrowed his eyes and adjusted his stance, "You think they know stuff about our future?"

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, from what I've observed. Their comfortable aura with the predicament, and easy attitudes under the circumstances."

John swallowed and grunted, "Right."

"They know too much for their own good, John. We will pry it from them. Slowly. Carefully."

John scoffed and shook his head in disbelief, "You don't have to make it sound so unsettling, Sherlock. Frankly, it's a touch disturbing."

Sherlock smirked, proud with himself and merely shrugged, yet again. "Sound like a plan?"

"What? The three of them being, as you say, a '_side case'_?"

Sherlock nodded, still grinning mischievously.

"I guess."

"Good," Sherlock swayed back toward the living room, announcing his approach to the women sitting patiently, "Meanwhile, I've got a case to attend to."

John's brows furrowed and he quickly followed the detective, who was heading toward the flat's exit.

"Whoa, wait a minute." John blurted out, as all three of the girls glanced at him in suspicion.

Celeste cocked her head to side, still stroking the violin, while Eleanor gently put down Sherlock's skull, and Annabelle stood gazing curiously.

John caught Sherlock's arm, eyes darting to the women, and then back to the detective.  
"We can't just leave them here." His whisper was inaudible to their guests, thankfully.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course we can. They're harmless."  
His response wasn't as quiet as John's.

Celeste shifted uncomfortably, while the other two simply sighed. Sherlock went to grab hold of the front door handle, before being interrupted by John, yet again. John turned to the girls with an apologetic smile and then glowered at the consulting detective, "Sherlock, where are you even going?"

Celeste finally got to her feet, setting the violin gently down, and back into its case, "I believe Sherlock needs to be at the bank, am I right?"

Eleanor smacked Celeste's shoulder, to which she instantly flinched at in irritation, and Bella eyes her with a firm glare. Sherlock blinked her way and a small, pleased smile tugged at his lips.

"Precisely," He grinned and added, "Come along, John."

Celeste dashed after the two, only to receive a menacing gaze from both men. Bella and Eleanor were both mid-stance behind their friend, each expecting to follow the duo out and into the world of London, toward a crime scene.

"No, I think you three should stay here." John shrugged politely, only to be bumped by Sherlock, glaring sternly at the three of them, eyes fixed on the dirty blonde.

"You'll only get in the way." The detective snapped, seemingly unconcerned that they may already know the answer to the upcoming scene's puzzle; merely knowing that they would slow him down.

"Will not." Eleanor spat out at the two men: John appearing ashamed, while Sherlock remained stoic.  
Bella swallowed awkwardly in the back, eyes meeting with John's and the both of them seeming helpless.

Celeste took a step forward toward the detective. They watched one another, hard gazes remaining serious for a moment before Celeste spoke.

"Fine." She simply brushed the subject away calmly, and all four of the others stared at her in disbelief, and utter confusion.

Sherlock blinked, before shaking his head and motioning John, all while pulling open the door and disappearing into the hall, only to trudge down the stairs. John stood frozen, hearing Sherlock call him out from below, which immediately jolted him from his daze.

"Right." He nodded his head to the three girls and took off after the vanishing detective.

Once the door to the flat had shut and she was sure the detective and his blogger had just exited the building below, she raced to the exit, a mischievous grin wide on her smug expression.

"Where are you going?" Bella asked, straightening out her pleated skirt, all while approaching the dirty blonde.

Celeste scoffed and shrugged, "To the bank."

Before she could open the door, Bella stopped her, eyes firm, "Celeste. Look at us. We are a mess. Our clothes are dirty, we look like we got beat up, and we don't even have shoes," She sighed and shook her head, "What makes you think we are in the right shape to go after them?"

Celeste groaned, "Come on, Bella."

Eleanor nodded and jogged over to the darker blonde, "Yeah! Come on, Bella!"

Annabelle moaned in irritation, "What if we mess something up? What if…what if we change the story of the show?"

Celeste seemed worried for a moment, taking in the good point, before shrugging yet again.  
"We'll keep out of trouble, Bella. _Promise._"

Eleanor nodded once more to further plead for Celeste's side of the debate. Annabelle narrowed her eyes sternly.

Celeste sighed, "Don't you want to see John again?"

It was when the dirty blonde winked that set Annabelle off, "Fine. But we need to be careful."

Eleanor fist pumped the air, and zoomed out the doorway, taking the stairs two at a time, the two girls behind her mirroring each step.

They rushed out of the building, (still cautious to making sure the duo wouldn't see them) and felt the London air, thick and cool, hitting them like a wave, as if they were on the beach again, in, home sweet home, Florida. They all breathed it in: smelling all the different smells, catching sight of all the different sights, hearing all the different sounds, and feeling every bit of emotion hidden in the atmosphere of England. They spotted Sherlock and John quickly slipping into a cab, and instantly the three girls rushed to the edge of the road, hidden from view due to the cars parked along the ledge of the sidewalk.

Celeste hailed their own cab, the motion obviously familiar to her (only from watching Sherlock), and it immediately stopped, ready to hear their quick order of a location.

Before Bella or Celeste could say a word, or a command, Eleanor was in the front seat, pointing at the cab that was off in the distance, just taking a corner.

"Follow that cab!"

Her shout merely caused the cabbie to stare at her in confusion and then shrug, nodding as he pulled off from the side of the road, and began to do as told.

Celeste and Annabelle simply stared at their friend, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, displaying bemused expressions.

El shrugged and grinned goofily, a soft blush lacing her cheeks, "What? I've always wanted to say that."

* * *

A/N: Please review! Love ya! *hugs*


	7. Matchmaking and Contemplating

**:D  
****Yes! I am moving double-time!  
****Thank you everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited!  
****Please continue! Love you all!**

**Let me know what ya think!**  
**All the best :3**  
**-JB**

* * *

**_Chapter 7: Matchmaking and Contemplating_**

* * *

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the strange message spray-painted carefully on the white walls of the banker's office. The yellow hue was sickening, deathly. Pulling his phone from the large pocket of his blue trench coat, he snapped a few clear photos, eager to analyze them closer later. What did it mean? Why yellow? Why these specific markings? A cipher, then. But what was it trying to get across? What point was it trying to make?

"Nooooo waaaaaay…" A small voice cooed from beside him, full admiration, and his eyes instantly flashed to his right, revealing a small girl, stood in her purple shirt, black tight jeans, and bare feet.

He huffed out a rather aggravated sigh, however – of course he would never admit it – he was oddly fascinated. "What are you doing here?"

Celeste grinned happily and shrugged, "Observing."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, catching sight of the other two girls slowly striding up toward him, John behind looking completely baffled.

"Oh, fantastic," The detective drawled irritably, and added the next comment with far more sarcasm than needed, "What, are we having a party?"

John scoffed from the back of the group, and almost everyone picked up on the faint blush lacing Annabelle's fair skin.

Eleanor broke the meaning behind Sherlock's frustrated remark, "Oh, we should though."

Celeste and Bella both rolled their eyes, John smiling faintly in content, while Sherlock simply shook his head and snapped a few more photos.  
Without hesitating, the consulting detective then took off down the corridor of offices, eager to further investigate, pushing past John and the three girls, as if they were not physically there.

Celeste only shrugged once more, and turned to follow; just after taking one more glance at the indoor graffiti. She observed how the line sat, dashed across the man's eyes; clearly appearing as though it was a blindfold. She laughed at the fact of it all, "The Blind Banker."  
Celeste spoke the words just as she passed John, grinning pleasantly his way, "That's a good one for your blog, ay John?"

**ooo**

Annabelle, Eleanor and John all watched from the side, sat awkwardly next to a cublice, simply staring at both Sherlock and Celeste. Personally, both Eleanor and Bella found it hilarious. They knew the extent of Celeste's love for Sherlock – there was no extent. And so watching her live out her dreams was positively wonderful – in this case, she was following the detective around the office, head ducking up multiple times to observe the angles of which the spray paint could be seen. All three girls knew Sherlock would discover it was Eddie Van Coon who was meant to receive the message, and that the message actually meant 'dead man' and that it would also result in the death of William Shad, after spotting it in a library, and Soo Lin Yao, and also that John would receive an ASBO from spray painting.

Basically they knew everything about the case.  
But they didn't dare say a word.  
This was one of John and Sherlock's famous cases.  
They couldn't reveal answers.  
Nor could they get involved.  
Well, at least not _too_ involved.

"She's like his shadow isn't she?" John scoffed, shaking his head at the two, as they hurried around the office cubicles, receiving dirty looks from the employees.

Bella snorted out a laugh and nodded, while Eleanor continued to watch, pleasantly smirking. "They have a lot more in common than you think."

Eleanor nodded at Bella's words, "Just like you and John."

And with that, the lighter blonde disappeared, stating she was going to ask _'that Sebastian bloke'_ for a coffee.  
John cleared his throat awkwardly and smiled a nervous smile toward the darker haired girl.

Bella bit her lip and giggled softly, blushing furiously, "I suppose we do have a lot in common."

John raised a brow politely, "How so?"

"For one, we're both doctors."

It seemed as though John mentally face palmed, his expression reddening and he chuckled, "Right, yeah."

"Also, just like you, I'm the designated _adult_." Bella added, grinning as she shrugged her shoulders toward him.

He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, which looked simply adorable, "What do you mean?"

"Well, without us, where would they be?" Bella flicked her head toward the detective and his 'shadow', scampering around the office like children on a case, rather than adults.

John nodded in agreement and bellowed out a sharp laugh, "OH, yes of course."

Then they sat in silence, both staring one another in the eyes, minds mentally flustered by the intimate gaze.  
Bella didn't get moments like this watching the show.

You didn't get to look into the eyes of your favorite character, nor did you get to breathe in their smell, or feel their closeness.  
You had to simply deal with the takes, the clips, and the images given to you.  
But now Bella was face-to-face with that man she had literally said she loved, over and over and over and over again.  
She could feel his warmth as he sat beside her, smell the soft scent of faded disinfectant, the rich lingering sensation of his favorite cologne.  
She wanted more than anything to take his hand in her own, but she held back on the urge with a considerable amount of effort.

She snapped herself out of it, clearing her throat and looking down at the polished floor.  
She had to remind herself as well: this was the episode where Sarah makes her first appearance.  
And she can't get in the way. It was torture.

Smiling wearily to herself, she adjusted her position, just as her eyes flickered up to catch a glimpse of both Sherlock and Celeste trotting toward her.

"You ready?" John grunted as Sherlock approached him.

Bella couldn't help but smirk faintly at the scene, remembering their conversation. It was as though Sherlock was the child on the playground, tired and exhausted, approaching his father with a pout, as dad simply asked if his little ankle-biter was ready to leave.

Annabelle glanced at John and then decided to do the same, turning to Celeste with a warm smile, "All done?"

John instantly busted into a chuckle, while Bella blushed furiously and couldn't hide the wide grin sprouting across her features.  
Celeste narrowed her eyes at the infantile treatment, same as Sherlock, and both merely nodded.

At that point, Bella felt another figure grow nearer to her, and spun around to come face-to-face with a rather nonchalant Eleanor, taking a sip of her coffee and holding out a slip of paper. Bella arched a brow and gently took hold of the sheet. It was a check, messy handwriting spelling out the numbers of quite a large amount of money.

"Eleanor!" Annabelle exclaimed, and Celeste immediately tripped over towards her, straining to catch sight of the check's worth. "Why the hell did you get a check for _500 pounds_?"

Eleanor's features immediately broke into a smug grin, and she took a long drag of her coffee, before pulling it away from her mouth with a long sigh of contentment. She then flipped her hair, "I'm gorgeous; that's _why_."

Both girls blinked in confusion, and the two men standing behind them stared with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

She groaned, and shook her head, "The _Sebastian guy_ gave it to me."  
She reached for her check, taking it from Bella's small fingers, and then held it close, smirking with pride, "He took a liking to my unattainable good looks."

Celeste rolled her eyes, and scoffed in amusement. Annabelle couldn't help but smile, same as John.

Sherlock only kept a straight face, "Perhaps it would suit you better to be more feminine, _John_. You'd certainly make better money that way."

With that, the detective took off through the corridor of cubicles, eager to get a move on and away from the mundane conversation.  
Celeste held back a laugh, and quickly jogged after the consultant, whose insults she found so amusing.  
Bella simply cleared her throat, smiling hesitantly at John and then followed in a slow-paced pursuit.  
John got up from his chair with a sigh, shaking his head in both irritation and embarrassment, and went to follow, only to be stopped by Eleanor's hand gripping tight on his stared at her in suspicion.

She handed him the check with a small smirk. "Take it, _John._"

He chewed on the insides of his cheeks, and then held up both hands, "I couldn't."

Eleanor, seemingly aware how desperate he was for a good income, groaned and sighed, "_John Watson,_ take the damn check."

John's eyes widened and he reached for it, only to be stopped once more by Eleanor's sharp tone, "Wait, you have to promise me something."

John froze and shrugged, shaking his head, "_Alright..._"

El raised a brow mischievously and tucked the check gently in his palm; patting it in conclusion, "Use it to take Annabelle out to dinner. Clear?"

John leaned back, bemused by her request. He then nodded, somehow perfectly satisfied with the thought of treating the quite extraordinary, darker-haired girl to a meal out in a fancy diner.

"Crystal." He responded and grinned, closing his fingers around the paper, eyes sparkling in excitement at the idea of asking Bella, now clearly informed that she was falling for him quite profusely. Just as he turned to follow Sherlock and the other two, however, Eleanor grabbed hold of his wrist once more. He turned back, startled at her stern expression.

"_What_?"

"One more thing."

John scoffed, "You know, you are a very demanding woman."

Eleanor smirked, "Yes, I take pleasure in it."

"Let's hear it then."

Eleanor took a deep breath, "Help me play matchmaker."

"Sorry?"

The lighter blonde grinned and further explained, trying to play the role of a persuasive and sexy young woman (she really didn't need to pretend), "Your flat mate and my friend. I'm sure you want more than anything to see Sherlock succumb to a young lady. Am I right?"

John blushed and chuckled sincerely, releasing a meek, "_Yeah._"

"Someone to _order_ him around, someone he will fall _submissive_ to?"

John snorted, "That would be quite the sight."

"Well, I assure you. Celeste would be more than willing."

John raised his chin in understanding, and was suddenly grinning ridiculously, "Ah, I see."

"So?" Eleanor chimed in, smirk still present.

John nodded, "Of course I'll help you."

"Good." Eleanor let him go and John winked at her before hurrying to catch up with the others.

The blonde was ecstatic.  
Perfect.  
She was playing matchmaker with everyone and they didn't even realize.  
John and Bella would be an absolutely brilliant pair.  
Sherlock and Celeste? Two peas in a pod, if Sherlock could open up to his emotions.  
That was her set goal, however, and she always accomplishes her goals.

* * *

_A/N: Hi friends :) Lemme hear your thoughts!_


	8. Finishing Sentences-Answering Speakers

**Oh damn. Let me just say, I am so sorry.**  
**Trust me, I'm ashamed of myself.**  
**Real-life Eleanor and Annabelle have been on my back about it for weeks, and I finally got it done!**  
**So, here you are! Chapter 8!**

**So, was wondering, would any of you be interested on seeing what we look like? xD**  
**I put together a collage of Sherlock and me, Moriarty and my friend, and John and my friend. :3**  
**You may have your own depiction of the characters, Annabelle, Celeste, and Eleanor, so I wanted to ask first. :3**  
**OKidoki, PLEASE leave a review! :) They inspire me!**  
**Byyyeeee! *hugs***

**All the best!**  
**-JB**

* * *

Chapter 8:  
Finishing Sentences and Answering Speaker Systems

* * *

Celeste, Eleanor and Bella listened intently as Sherlock and John had their conversation on how the consulting detective had deduced that Sebastian Wilkes had seemingly traveled "all the way around the world, twice in a month".

They still couldn't believe they were here. _Living the episode._ Breathing in the fictional London air, feeling the warmth of their favorite characters beside them, genuine, _real_. It was spellbinding, fascinating, bewildering, and wholly quite terrifying. Celeste jogged to walk beside Sherlock, off to his right, while Bella filled in the empty position beside John, to his left. Eleanor simply smirked fondly, and continued to sip her now perfectly cool coffee.

The girls immediately picked up on the conversation, realizing just what part of the episode they were in, before continuing to listen intently, while Sherlock and John sauntered onwards.

"So," The army doctor began, "D'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

Celeste glanced over at Bella and both seemingly had the same idea. _Play the part. Recite the script._

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks." Sherlock quirked, staring straight ahead, as they all approached the exit.

John raised a brow and shook his head, "Hmm?"

Celeste took the opportunity as a moment to jump forward, to enter her own take on the action, "The graffiti was a message."

Sherlock turned to gaze straight at the small, darker-haired blonde, grinning mischievously his and John's way.

He nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes and focusing his attention back to John, "Yes. It was for someone in the bank working on the…"

"Trading floors." Celeste noted, and then instantly dropped her head, "Sorry."

Sherlock swallowed, arched a brow and cleared his throat, "Yes, um, so we find the intended recipient and…"

He trailed off, waiting for John to finish his sentence, but Bella jumped in instead, "They'll lead us to the person who sent it."

John whirled to face the brunette, as though she had taken the words right from his mouth, and figuratively, she had. She merely smiled a petite smile, as both Sherlock and John stared, eyes widened. Celeste simply grinned in admiration.

"Obvious…" Sherlock added in a bewildered tone, seemingly quite dazed by the knowledge presented by the two nimble women.

John blinked and cleared his throat, "Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?"

Celeste smirked, "_Pillars._"

Sherlock spun to face her, stopping mid-stride, which ultimately resulted in everyone else drawing to a standstill – except for Eleanor, who merely shrugged, and carried on walking, too content with her coffee.

Celeste froze, gulped, and lifted a hand as if to gesture onward to Sherlock, "Sorry. Why don't you explain?"

She hid her face after speaking the words, as if feeling oddly scrutinized.  
Sherlock nodded, almost in slow motion, before opening his mouth, closing it, and then opening it again, to speak.

"Yes, pillars and the screens." He managed, eyes narrowing as they fixed on the blonde, as if expecting another flummoxing calculation. She merely smiled charmingly his way. "Very few places you can see that graffiti from," He continued, "That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night,"

Before Sherlock could finish Celeste already had input, "That tells us a lot."

They were still stopped in the middle of the bank, halfway to the exit, and now Bella and Celeste were grinning like madwomen.

Annabelle stepped forward, toward the darker blonde, "Does it?"

Celeste smirked and nodded vigorously, clearly ready to recite the script she had remembered unbelievably well, "Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night," Celeste took a deep breath, "That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight."

Celeste was still staring at her dark-haired friend by the time she finished – and before carrying on, she had turned to smile fiendishly at Sherlock Holmes. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." She added, quirking an intelligent eyebrow.

Sherlock gulped, unable to remove his eyes from the blonde.

Bella grinned, "Come, Celeste. Shall we hail a cab?"

Celeste giggled and sent her a nod, "Oh, I think we shall."

And with that the two girls hurried after the vacant-minded Eleanor Williams, still sipping her delectable coffee, oblivious as to what had just gone down, but seemingly care-free of it. Sherlock and John were almost helpless, as they stared after the girls, quite clueless as to what just happened, other than the evidence that these women certainly were _not_ from around here.

The only word spoken after the consulting duo chased after their new, temporary, flat mates, was that of a large, piercing command from the otherwise coffee-satisfied Eleanor. "Taxi!"

* * *

They'd arrived at Eddie Van Coon's house in due time, and after having a taxi ride to think to themselves, the girls were steadily growing nervous – fingers trembling, consistently blinking, one knee fidgeting against the other. They knew what came next. They knew the direction this took. They were terrified – upon arriving to this moment in their current episode; the horror of drawing nearer and nearer to an unknown dead body was unnerving. And they knew they couldn't say anything – nothing. They couldn't reveal the plot to the main characters. It just wasn't done. No spoilers – it would ruin the mystery, the suspense that _is_ Sherlock. But it was terribly hard, as they stepped from the taxi, watching Sherlock and John swaying ahead just in front of them, and knowing what would happen between them, _eventually_. A certain event would occur that the girls didn't like to mention; the fear and horror would always seem to swarm in at the thought. That little event the writers like to call the "_Reichenbach Fall_". Something changed between the detective and the doctor in the aftermath of Season 2 and the intake of Season 3, and the girls knew what it was.

But. They. Couldn't. Do. A. Thing.

And it was heart wrenching.

Just ahead of the three of them, Sherlock was approaching the door to an apartment complex, John beside him.  
The women following knew Sherlock would enter the building alone, find Eddie Van Coon shot in the head, and John would, far later, say a few things he would eventually regret towards the end of the episode. Neither of the girls even wanted to think about the end of the episode. Even watching it had been nerve wrecking, and considering that they had to live it was even more horrifying. They knew the process; John meets Sarah at the clinic, much to Bella's disappointment, they go on a date which Sherlock obviously busts, and then – _voila!_ They nearly _die_!

Not the grandest of first dates, of course – but to Bella, if it was with John Watson, it had to have been brilliant.

Sherlock approached the door, eyes narrowing in contemplation, while John took a glance over his shoulder at the their three bewildering guests, and then turned back to the complex's resident's list. Sherlock leaned forward, index finger lifting to push down on the call button for Eddie Van Coon's flat, as John watched carefully.

When no one answered, Sherlock pushed again.  
Bella flinched uncomfortably from behind, while Celeste bounced in her stance – excitement? No, maybe just anxiousness – and Eleanor simply stared off into the sky as though on the search for _Moriarty_.

The silence gave the same result – _no answer_.

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" John asked attentively, eyes gently catching a glimpse of a nervous Annabelle in his peripheral vision.

Sherlock took a moment to study the call box, while Celeste drew nearer to his side to observe the situation as well – even though she knew, _quite wholly,_ what happened next.

"Just moved in." Sherlock declared triumphantly, grinning like a madman.

John shook his head in confusion, "What?"

Before the consulting detective could say a word, Celeste was in on the scene like the jam on John's toast. "The floor above. New label."

Sherlock nodded distantly, eyes studying Celeste like she was one of his new science experiments – which, in a way, wasn't too far off. E

leanor and Annabelle climbed the apartment complex's front door stairs so that they could stand directly behind the detective and his retired army doctor.

John swallowed, glancing at Sherlock before directing his full attention to Celeste. "They could've just replaced it."

The darker blonde shook her head immediately, catching a glimpse of Eleanor and Bella smirked knowingly. "No one ever does that."  
Celeste turned to Sherlock, smiling his way mischievously, while he glared at her, a scowl positioned effortlessly on his irresistible expression.

"Shall we?" The dirty blonde asked mockingly, and Sherlock nodded, both seemingly understanding each other, while John simply stared, Bella behind him, doing the same – Eleanor just continued to daydream.

Sherlock pressed the buzzer to the "newly-moved-in" flat and both waited in absolute silence.  
Celeste twiddled her thumbs contently, while the consulting detective continued to glower down at her.

_"Hello?"_

The voice from the buzzer summoned Celeste and Sherlock back into the land of the living and both turned to the speaker, drawing in a breath, before simultaneously replying, "Hi!"

John's eyes went wide, same as Bella's and Eleanor's.  
Celeste and Sherlock had both put on their best "I'm-a-normal-human-being" faces, and it was absolutely _terrifying_.

Celeste bit her lip; eyes dashing over to Sherlock's narrowed expression, and then quickly back to the speaker system. "I – _um_ – we live in the flat below you."

Sherlock cleared his throat and smiled pleasantly, "I-I don't think we've met."

Celeste stifled a giggle at Sherlock's "normal person" act. _Sure_, she struggled with it as well, but not as much as he did, this very moment.  
But_, boy_, was it _convincing_.

_"No, well, uh, I've just moved in."_ The speaker answered.

Both Celeste and Sherlock took a glance at one another, eyes locking, before turning back to the call box. The darker blonde chewed on the side of her cheek minutely, before approaching the conversation again; "Actually," She paused, looking to Sherlock to finish the sentence.  
The consulting detective rolled his eyes and nodded, "We've just locked our keys in our flat."

They waited in silence to hear the oncoming answer.  
_"D'you want me to buzz you in?"_

Sherlock nodded, "Yeah,"

Celeste cocked her head to the side, "And can we use your balcony?"

The speaker only responded with, _"What?"_

* * *

_A/N: Sorry again for the wait! please please please, leave a review!_


	9. Five Hotties and Dead Bodies

**_A/N:_ I hope you like it everyone! I can't thank you enough for all the great reviews, and to those of you who followed and favorited. 3  
I love you all so much! *hugs* So here you are!  
The real Bella and El have not left me alone. xD  
Pleading me to finish this chapter, so I've done it and I am happy with the outcome!  
Let's hope it has you laughing!**

BTW: I put my tumblr link in my profile description. If you click it and find my blog, you can look for the webpage "Fanfic Related Photos" and you will be able to find pictures of me (Celeste), Eleanor, and Bella. :3 Let me know what you think in a

**review! Thanks everyone!**

* * *

Chapter 9: _Five Hotties...and Dead Bodies_

* * *

Sherlock had ventured inside, and the girls knew not to follow. So, instead, they waited alongside John, who constantly shook in angered concern over Sherlock's feeble attempt to open the door. It wasn't long after that they finally were let inside, and all had to struggle to keep their lunch down.

Celeste had shrieked and ran to the living room of the flat to bury her face into a pillow.  
Eleanor had stumbled to the bathroom – _just in time_.  
And Annabelle had merely stood, staring, eyes wide with horror and disgust.

It wasn't that the dead body was overly drastic, it wasn't seeping blood, oozing puss, or being imposed upon by the feelers of little white maggots smelling the sweet stench of decomposition. No, it was the shock of setting their sights on a dead man, lying flat on his back, and knowing the answer as to why.

Not a suicide – a _murder_.

Sherlock had lifted his head calculatingly, gazing at the corpse of Eddie Van Coon, while John had quickly called the police.  
Meanwhile, Eleanor was still emptying her stomach of its inners, and Celeste was still screaming into the cotton of an expensive pillow.

The authorities had soon showed up and taken the flat into account, whilst allowing Sherlock to go about his deductive business before their commanding officer made his appearance.

John hiked up towards Bella's position, shoulders just grazing; standing so close it was comforting.  
"You okay?" He asked and his voice was laced with sweet sympathy.

Annabelle nodded, and smiled a weary, tired smile, "Yes. It's just –"  
She swallowed, and turned back, glowering at the body once more, "Whenever someone is hurt, or sick, and they come to me, they are usually still _alive_."

John chuckled at that and bobbed his head up and down in complete understanding.

Footsteps could be heard from behind the bedroom's door, and Sherlock, John and Bella turned to see Celeste making her entrance, eyes seemingly exhausted, and mouth slightly agape.

"I'm fine." She reassured her friend, when Bella made a move towards her. Celeste blushed in embarrassment – she was supposed to deal with this stuff accordingly, lest Sherlock think her a wimp. But surprisingly enough, when she caught his pale blue eyes staring her way, she saw the faintest bit of concern, beckoning her forward. She wanted more than anything just to mumble '_Hold me'_, and fall down into Sherlock's arms.  
She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and turned to face the body in apprehension – asking a question she already knew the answer to.

"So," She paused, "Who murdered him?"

Sherlock's eyes were then wide again, whilst John's were simply narrowed in confusion, as they both peered pointedly at the darker blonde's fragile stance.

"Murder?" John questioned with a scoff, "Isn't it clearly suicide?"

Sherlock merely kept his gaze fixed on the exasperated Celeste, even when John was mostly questioning the consultant rather than the strange blonde woman.

"Maybe he lost a bit of money, or something – suicide is common among city boys." John shrugged.

Sherlock moved then, eyes fidgeting restlessly, as he took his sight away from the clever woman nearly falling asleep in the doorway.  
"Not suicide. Celeste is right."

Celeste jolted awake at that, and observed Sherlock's fluid motions as he knelt in front of a small black suitcase, his hands – topped with white latex gloves – rummaging through its possessions, which had obviously belonged to Eddie Van Coon.

John huffed in aggravation, still stood close to Bella, who merely continued gazing at the eerily still body, "Come on. The door was _locked_ from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony."

Sherlock merely ignored his words, still ruffling through the man's clothes and belongings – he also ignored the flush of the toilet, and Eleanor's weak, droopy footsteps entering the crime scene bedroom. "Been away three days; judging by the laundry."

Celeste nodded subconsciously, remembering the words he was currently uttering. The consulting detective then got to his feet, eyes narrowed as they shimmied their way over John's expression. "Look in the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

The army doctor waved a dismissive hand toward the order and shook his head, "Thanks – I'll take your word for it."

Celeste held back a smirk.

The detective's brows furrowed as he calculated John's current emotion, "Problem?"

John scoffed and nodded again, "Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."

The lighter blonde was suddenly in the picture, looking quite clammy in the artificial light, but rather excited anyways, "Oh, I will."  
She got to her knees and searched through the case, seemingly appearing just as thoughtful as Sherlock had.

Bella had turned around, eyes narrowed at Eleanor's movements, "How can she have so much energy after just throwing up?"

Celeste giggled and shrugged, "Because she's Eleanor."

Bella let out a sharp laugh, and Celeste joined in, before both were interrupted by Eleanor's loud snort, "_Shh_! We can't giggle, it's a crime scene!"

Their laughter was quite uncontrollable at that point, and neither of them really realized John's frozen position due to their use of words – as they had just quoted him from the first episode. Sherlock cleared his throat in an attempt to silence the vile giggles, and John immediately regained his manliness, mouth no longer hanging open in disbelief.

"Right then." John grunted and shook his head, blushing when Bella's admirable dark eyes landed on his flustered position.

Sherlock, as if noticing his awkward stance, chose the moment as a chance to continue his calculations.  
"Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

John focused once more on the situation at hand, and furrowed his eyebrows upon conceiving Sherlock's statement, "What, some sort of code?"

Celeste took a step forward, glancing at the body, then at Sherlock, and then at John, "Obviously."

Sherlock blinked, still not able to get over how she can possibly do that, and nodded, "Right, yes. _So_. Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

John shrugged, "Well, maybe he wasn't answering."

"Oh good. You follow."

"No."

Both Celeste and Sherlock sighed at this, and the consulting detective tossed one of his signature-exasperated looks at the blogger before moving to examine the dead man's hands. Bella merely stepped farther away, allowing him to have his space, and Eleanor watched observantly from the sidelines.

Before Sherlock could say it, Celeste stepped in and stared pointedly at John, "What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?"  
The darker blonde was quite encouraged as John's brow furrowed in contemplation, and she could of sworn she heard Sherlock release a breath of relief – at not having to waste his time saying the question himself. John cleared his throat and took a step forward, trying to get a better look at what Sherlock was doing. Celeste turned as well, and witnessed the detective removing the small black lotus from the dead banker's mouth.

"He was being threatened." Sherlock concluded, and in that moment, he threw a look over his shoulder, which landed precisely in line with Celeste's heavy-lidded hazel eyes. She immediately blushed, but didn't turn away; instead, she was eager to deduce the expression upon Sherlock's perfectly chiseled face: mischief, excitement and a hint of nervous puzzlement.

Celeste smirked inwardly – was her persona making the detective _nervous_? She found herself enjoying the theory.

Before any of the five members in the arbitrarily strange crusade could say a word, another voice could be heard amongst the shuffling of the police brigade outside. A small man entered the room, and froze upon witnessing Sherlock stood utterly still holding onto the folded black lotus in his gloved fingers. The officer was young – incredibly young – and appeared as though he should really just be graduating high school.

Compared to Eleanor, Annabelle, and Celeste, he could be taken for their little brother.  
He had a lack in superfluous brown hair atop his head, and seemed quite stern going by the manner of his stance and posture.

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched mischievously, and Celeste automatically knew he had already deduced the most embarrassing things from just setting eyes on the man. "Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met." The consulting detective extended a hand for the small man to shake but was immediately turned down by a rather abrupt scolding.

"Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence." The short officer snapped, and with one smooth movement, Sherlock Holmes handed over the small evidence bag he had only just placed the paper lotus into, sending the policeman a rather stroppy glare.

"I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

Celeste smirked from the sidelines, and Bella and Eleanor stood close to one another, simply mesmerized by the situation.  
John's own eyes flashed from Sherlock to the Sergeant, and then occasionally back to Annabelle.

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. _Dimmock._"

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, directing a surprised look – an arched brow included – to Celeste, who instantly stifled a giggle and turned to face the floor, amused by the detective's who-does-this-guy-think-he-is expression. Dimmock then turned to leave the crime scene in the tainted bedroom, and Sherlock instantly followed, gesturing for the others to follow in unison. They exited and strolled out into the living room, where the small inspector handed over the evidence bag to a member of the forensics team.

Celeste, Eleanor, and Bella gazed at the booming structure of the scene; officers crossing the kitchen, this way and that, in search of various clues that they most likely wouldn't be able to find without the help of Sherlock Holmes and his trusty blogger John Watson.  
Dimmock had the nerve to deny this – it was preposterous.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide." The detective inspector sighed effortlessly, as if he was the smartest thing to walk on two legs.  
Celeste had to argue with that one – the smartest thing to walk on two legs was standing directly beside her, and he was _unbelievably sexy._

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts." John nodded, biting the side of his cheek in agreement.

Sherlock dragged off the latex gloves with a snap, revealing pale, slender fingers as he huffed in aggravation, "Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts."

Celeste flinched at his rather aggressive stature, but shook in excitement all the same. She had always loved this part of the episode – the part where Sherlock proves everyone wrong, and without a doubt, she was going to be in on it.

The consulting detective turned to the Inspector, eyes flickering in eager divulgence, watching as Dimmock leaned backward some, feeling threatened under the strong scrutiny of Sherlock Holmes. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore _anything_ you see that doesn't comply with it."

The officer arched a brow stubbornly, _"Like?"_

"The wound was on the _right_ side of his head."

_"And?_"

"Van Coon was_ left-handed,_" Celeste put out, lifting a hand demonstratively, heightening the importance of the factual evidence she had just stated.  
Sherlock glanced at her, eyes dancing with approval, and turned back to glare at the Detective Inspector once more.

He then twisted oddly, miming the position of a gun to his temple, "Requires _quite_ a bit of _contortion_."

Celeste snorted at that, amused upon witnessing Dimmock's aggravated expression and Sherlock's strange body movement. John narrowed his eyes in suspicion at them both, but the consultant and the artist merely smirked gracefully. Bella and Eleanor stood back, struggling to keep in their flamboyant giggles.

"Left-handed?" Dimmock repeated, entirely confused by Sherlock's swift deduction.

The genius rolled his eyes and stared pointedly at their surrounding setting, "Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat."

Celeste cleared her throat, preparing herself for a quick rant on clear evidence.

Sherlock began, "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left…"

The tall, darker blonde jumped in with an effortless sigh, "Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D'you want us to go on?"

Sherlock was gazing at her now, a knowing smirk lighting up the depths of his perfectly sculpted expression. Celeste held back a blush.

John huffed and shook his head, reaching a hand out to calm the consultant and the woman beside him, "No, I think you've both covered it."

Celeste scoffed, "Oh, we might as well; we're almost at the bottom of the list." She paused, and grinned, "Sherlock? If you will?"

The consulting detective flicked his head toward the kitchen; "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left…"

Celeste leaned forward, eyes glowering sharply on the small inspector. She could practically hear the Sherlock soundtrack ringing in the back of her head.  
"It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would _shoot himself_ in the right side of his head."

And then Sherlock, "Conclusion: someone broke in here and _murdered_ him."

Celeste, coy and beaming, "_Only_ explanation of _all_ the facts."

And then they were staring at each other, eyes bright with satisfaction upon their keen observation – well, Sherlock's keen observation.

They barely noticed Dimmock's fragile attempt at 'speaking'. "But the gun: _why._.."

Sherlock sighed disgracefully, "He was waiting for the killer."

Celeste nodded, "He'd been threatened."

The consulting detective turned then, his back to Celeste, tugging on his black, leather gloves, and adjusting his scarf so that it would hang ever so perfectly around the bridge of his neck.

Dimmock was still awfully confused, "_What?"_

"Today, at the bank." Bella stepped forward, eyes content on sharing what she knew while John smiled pleasantly her way.

Celeste bobbed her head up and down, unable to drag her eyes away from Sherlock's unbelievably unlawful backside, even while she spoke, "He fired a shot when his attacker came in."

Dimmock cleared his throat, "And the bullet?"

Sherlock spun on his heel, eyes first landing on Celeste's relieved expression (clearly glad she wasn't caught red-handed), and then fixing themselves on the short stance of the Inspector. "Went through the open window."

Dimmock scoffed, "Oh, come on! What are the chances of _that?_!"

The consulting detective made for the exit, "Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

Much to Celeste's disbelief, Sherlock wiggled his fingers her way, gesturing for her to follow him out. She obediently did as told – why wouldn't she?  
In the corner of her eye, she caught Eleanor's wide smirk, the lighter blonde gazing at her with smug features.

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Dimmock asked, turning to face the detective and the woman beside him as they headed for the door of the apartment.

"Good! You're finally asking the right questions." Sherlock snapped, and flounced out of the flat, coat billowing out around him.  
Celeste swallowed, smiled politely, and hurried after him.

The army doctor cleared his throat and pointed towards the exit Sherlock had just swayed out of, informing the detective inspector that he was going to follow after the untamable drama queen named Sherlock Holmes. He then turned to Bella, extending a hand, so that she too, would walk out the door beside him. Annabelle beamed shyly, nodded and trotted forward, just in front of John, both exiting the crime scene.

Eleanor smirked and cat walked dramatically towards the doorframe as well, slowing when she passed by the small inspector, Dimmock.  
"It's working." She grunted with a small, mischievous chuckle.

Dimmock turned to her with an arched brow, "_What's_ working?"

Eleanor simply busted into her own private giggle fit, shaking her head in amusement, and cackling her way out the door.

The five of them had left D.I Dimmock wondering whom the bloody hell he had just met.


	10. Taxi Cabs and Sleeping Conditions

**A/N: Oh. My. Loki. **  
**I know. I'm unacceptable. **  
**Go ahead, you can punch me. **

**In my defense, it's a long chapter, and I am proud of it!  
Leave me a review to let me know you're still with me!  
*hugs* and follow me on Tumblr please! :3**

* * *

Chapter 10: _Taxi Cabs and Sleeping Conditions_

* * *

Sebastian had been a right git about the situation.

Celeste was fuming as he disregarded Sherlock's conclusion that Eddie Van Coon was, in fact, murdered. Bella remained huddled beside John, while Eleanor glared from afar. They had all left the fancy restaurant in a huff, turning their backs to the banker, and confidently swaying away (or trying to keep up with Sherlock's aggravated stride). Eleanor had given Sebastian Wilkes the evil eye, to which he was rather disappointed, as his face fell and his expression no longer held a sense of lust, and want for the bodacious blonde he had flirted with earlier. El didn't seem to care much for it anyhow.

Overall, the girls were exhausted. Their feet ached from a lack of shoes (John promised to help them get sorted in the next days), and they felt and looked quite the mess, eager for an earnest shower.

They grouped together, frankly done for the day, and headed for a cab, stepping onto the sidewalk of the damp London setting, and basking in the fierce cool breeze of the night air. It was quite terrifying, really, to think that the day was nearly over, and Eleanor, Bella, and Celeste still remained in the world of "Sherlock". Of course, they were absolutely thrilled, and still quite stunned when looking back on how they'd arrived here; however, they just couldn't figure it out. Magic? Time travel? The ideas were absolutely ludicrous. But how, and why, had three strangely average girls suddenly appeared in the midst of their obsession?

The screech of wheels against the slippery gravel emanated from within the traffic, and all heads rose to take in the taxi pulling to the side of the curb, ready for the passengers currently awaiting transportation. Sherlock was only just dropping his hand to his side, after calling upon a needed cab, leaving Celeste bearing a wide grin of admiration. How does he do that so effortlessly?

Sherlock adjusted his coat and stepped forward, grabbing hold of the vehicle's door handle, and spinning to enter, only to be stopped by the stern force of John's grip upon his shoulder. He whirled around in confusion, one brow arched, as he gazed calculatingly John's way. "What?"

The army doctor scoffed and shook his head, "Sherlock. Come on."

The consulting detective still didn't seem to understand.

With a sigh, John pulled Sherlock away from the cab, and gestured to the three girls staring expectantly their way. The tall genius merely shrugged once more. Apparently giving up, John smiled at Bella, Eleanor, and Celeste, flicking his head in the direction of the cab. "Ladies first."

Instantly, Annabelle was blushing, El was grinning too wide to be natural, and Celeste was stifling a laugh at Sherlock's look of protest.  
John ultimately meant for the three girls to take the first cab, and he and Sherlock would simply catch another – how very gentlemanly.

Before any of the women could enter, however, Eleanor had yet another brilliant idea and felt the compelling need to share it. "Shouldn't we have an escort though?" She beamed and glanced over at her two friends before continuing, "Could be dangerous. What with a killer on the loose and all."

John seemed to light up at that, and he immediately nodded his head, still holding open the door for whomever would enter first, "Right. Ideas?"

"Of course," Eleanor jumped forward and ignored the back of the cab, of which John was offering, and went, instead, for the front passenger seat, sliding inside and smiling a broad smile at the cabbie. "Sherlock and Celeste with me – they need a babysitter –" Said duo's jaws dropped in astonishment, "- and John, you can accompany Bella."

John got the memo – he was, of course, the only one who knew the depths of Eleanor's matchmaking scheme. He let go of the open door, and sauntered over to Annabelle's nervous position, beaming charmingly – Bella, evidently, reddened a factor.

Celeste caught a glimpse of Sherlock's peculiarly smug smirk as he gestured to the black back seats of the cab, awaiting Celeste's first move. She swallowed, cleared her throat, and strode forward, slipping into the vehicle and tucking herself gently into the corner, shoulder pressed up against the cold window. He climbed in as well, leaving John and Annabelle standing alone on the London sidewalk.

Eleanor rolled down her window and grinned their way, "See you soon then!" She then turned to face the two sitting awkwardly in the back, and sent them a wink, to which Sherlock's brow furrowed, and Celeste blushed.

"Where to, miss?" The cabbie asked in a thick English accent.

Eleanor beamed, before spinning back around in her seat and facing the open road before them, "Baker Street. 221B_, Baker Street_."

**ooo**

"How long do you plan to stay with us?"

John's arbitrary question caught her off guard, and Bella immediately sat up in her seat, clearing her throat to cover up her nervousness.  
John was smiling politely her way, awaiting answer with calm calculation.

"I really have no idea." She answered truthfully – because, well, it was the truth. She didn't know how they even got here in the first place, and she had no bloody clue how they would possibly get back. She then hesitated, slowly pondering John's question. Oh. Maybe he was tired of her – maybe he wanted them out. Understandable seeing as how much sass Eleanor provided on a daily basis, and Celeste's sociable awkwardness, and her own –

"I didn't mean that in a rude way. _God,_ sorry." John apologized and chuckled softly under his breath, "I just – I wouldn't mind having you around for a little while."

Bella froze at that. Here she was, in the back of a cab with John bloody Watson, zooming around London while said man tells her he wants her to stick around – that he, basically_, enjoys_ her company. Holy _hell_. This was too terribly good to be real.

She blushed, staring down at her hands, currently folded gently in her lap, "Well, I wouldn't mind staying either."  
John swallowed visibly, and let out a small, rather nervous, laugh, grinning and shaking his head at his own flustered expression.

"So," He began, and Bella completed the sentence with another, "_So._"

John turned to her, features suddenly stoic and serious. "So, I'd like to ask you out."

Annabelle snorted, "Sorry, _what_?"

"I'd like to take you out, on a date."

She blinked in disbelief. "A _date_?"

John chuckled, "Yeah."

Her world was exploding – she was quite sure of it. What else could explain the way her cheeks were burning with desire and excitement? Oh, right: Doctor bloody Watson. "Yes." The word was out before she couldn't even fathom the very thought of speaking it aloud. "I – I mean, yes, sure."

John's entire expression lit up; eyes glowing their ever-so dark, cobalt blue, and teeth revealed in a wide grin of satisfaction. "Alright then."

Bella nodded firmly, "Okay."

They both turned away with blushing smiles – the silence straying from awkward and more toward…strangely _pleasant_.

**ooo**

"So Sherlock," Eleanor began, positively bouncing in her cozy position as she gazed over the shoulder of the front passenger seat, "Did you know Celeste writes books?" Celeste growled under her breath and shook her head, "Of _course_ he knows El."

Sherlock arched a brow, glanced at a scowling Celeste, and then to Eleanor once more, "Actually, when I deduced her, it was the one thing I happened to miss."

"_Hah!_" Eleanor exclaimed happily, pointing accusingly at Celeste, "You see!"  
The darker blonde rolled her eyes and huffed, turning away from the situation to stare out the window.

Eleanor smirked mischievously, leaning back in her front seat to gaze forward again as the cab drove on, "She's based plenty of characters on you, you know."

Celeste immediately froze in shock, eyes widening in embarrassment, as Sherlock leaned forward, interest obviously peaked.

"Has she?"

"Oh yes," Eleanor boasted, "It's fantastic. Each character has something of you in them. Whether it's the curls, or the eyes, or the _friendly personality_."  
She teased, glancing at Celeste's horrified expression, and Sherlock's rather fascinated one.

"How very intriguing." Sherlock mumbled, looking quite thoughtful as his eyes darted over to the darker blonde next to him.  
She forced a flustered smile, and swallowed the knot slowly forming in her throat.

"These characters and their stories – do they have clever endings?" Sherlock's question left Celeste rather shocked; frankly surprised he was even interested in the first place, seeing as though it was surely nothing beneficial to him or his intelligence. Or was it?

Before she could have any input, whatsoever, Eleanor was leaning back again, beaming brightly, eyes crinkling in content.  
"Those based of you? One of them dies, one of them gets shot at, and another falls in love."

Sherlock raised both eyebrows, "Well. The first two sound interesting."

Celeste could literally feel her heart falling in her chest – slowly, and painfully.  
There goes any chance she had.

"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Don't be naïve," Eleanor began with a smirk, "Sure, death is intense. A bullet flying towards you can be quite the adrenaline rush. But love? Love is by far the greatest adventure of them all."

**ooo**

The arrival of both cabs at 221B was rather timely, allowing Sherlock to merely unlock the door before John and Bella pulled up to the curb. Eleanor darted over to the vehicle in excitement and snatched Annabelle by the arm, dragging her to the door of the flat, of which Sherlock was now striding into, head held high as he left it open for a rather nervous Celeste.

El shoved Bella into the building and then whirled around to stare threateningly at John. "So?"

John arched a brow, and narrowed his eyes in confusion, "So, _what_?"

Eleanor groaned and lifted her hands in an irritable manner, "What did the two of you talk about?"

The army doctor before her raised his chin in a knowing gesture, and let out an uneasy chuckle, "Well, I asked her."

Eleanor craned her neck in suspicion.

John huffed and shook his head, "_Jesus_ – I asked her out."

The bright blonde wiggled in joy, leaning forward and throwing her arms around John, eyes bright with happiness and pure anticipation.  
"Oh, you marvelous man, you!"

John let out a sharp, rather embarrassed laugh, and cleared his throat awkwardly, "Right. Thank you?"

Eleanor zoomed back around to face the flat door, and glided into the flat complex, expression alert and utterly pleased.  
"Fantastic." She mumbled to herself with a mischievous smirk, and left John behind to follow.

**ooo**

Sherlock eyed the flat in deliberation, mind running a million miles per hour, as he took every inch of every detail. Celeste merely stood patiently, admiring his quick thinking, how his lip twitched when he thought he was on to something, and he swayed to and fro in calculation.

Even though she had no bloody clue what the hell he was speculating about.

Bella and Eleanor slowly crept through the door to the flat, and watched, puzzled, as Sherlock only stood in silence. John pursued the two as well, and entered the flat full on, obviously used to this kind of behavior. The doctor noticed the frazzled appearances of the three girls and cleared his throat, itching to clear up the current confusion.

"Alright. What are thinking about?" John sighed and plopped down in his red armchair, gazing expectantly at his flatmate, "Did you forget about an experiment in the laundry again?"

Annabelle raised a single brow, "Again?"  
John nodded and smiled wearily.

_"Sleeping conditions."_

Sherlock's deep baritone surprised everyone, and all eyes fell onto his frozen position in the middle of the living room.

John cocked his head, seemingly perplexed, "Sorry, what?"

"Sleeping conditions, John. I'm sure you've realized it's dark outside, ultimately indicating nighttime, nightfall, sundown, dusk, when the moon is –"

"Alright, yes! I get it!"

"So where do they sleep? Our…_guests_." Sherlock's multi-colored eyes landed on the three anxious visitors, flying up and over Bella and Eleanor, and then landing and remaining sharply on Celeste's wary position.

"Oh," John grunted and bobbed his head in agreement, "Right."

Annabelle was the first to step forward, smiling politely at the two men appearing entirely out of their depths. "I'm perfectly fine on the couch."  
Eleanor squeaked in confirmation to her statement and Celeste cleared her throat in mild displeasure – she had hoped to sleep somewhere else, and with someone else. Her eyes widened and she quickly cleared her mind of such ridiculous thoughts.

Sherlock looked them all over once more and sent them a firm nod of his head, "Perfect. Good ni-"

"_Sherlock._" John's tone was rather commanding, and instantly Sherlock froze in his eager retreat to free himself of the current conversation.

"That hardly seems polite," John finished with a sigh.

Sherlock whirled around, and fixed his blogger with an icy glare, "And what do you propose we do then?"

John scoffed as though it was the most obvious thing in the world and even Sherlock Holmes should know better, "We take the couch, and give them our beds."

Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and it was silent for longer than it should have been. Sherlock didn't seem to know what to say from there on, and the women observing were merely shaking in both excitement and unconditional amounts of nervousness.

Annabelle, _bless her,_ stood forward before anyone else was forced to, "Really, John, it's not necessary."

Sherlock took that as a gratifying chance to end the discussion, "Precisely, John. It's unnecessary. And frankly, rather tedious."

John snorted and rolled his eyes, glowering sharply at his flatmate, "Oh, come on. You won't be sleeping anytime soon anyways. You're on a case."

Sherlock couldn't argue that, so instead he turned to Celeste and smirked, which bemused her even further and she titled her head in suspicion.  
What the hell was going through that madman's mind?

John smiled charmingly at the three girls, and bobbed his head as if to say '_end of conversation'_, "It's no problem, really."

Bella, Eleanor and Celeste all beamed back at him, excitement coursing through their veins like the power of a newfound drug.

**ooo**

"So, I thought, tomorrow we could get you all something new to wear?"

Annabelle stepped forward, brows raised in disbelief, as she and her friends followed the doctor up the stairs to his bedroom (she tried to ignore how dirty the whole thing sounded). "Really? But, I wouldn't want you to use your money on us," Bella swallowed hesitantly, "I mean, here we are, barging in and sleeping in your beds and spending your paychecks."

Before John could respond, Eleanor was passing Annabelle on the stairs, grinning widely.  
"No worries, Bells. The check I got from the Wilkes dude should be enough for both your date, and our clothes."

Celeste's head jerked upward, "Date?"

Both John and Annabelle blushed vigorously.

El nodded, "Yes. Bella has a _date_ with John Watson."

Said man cleared his throat and gestured to his doorway, receiving a smug expression from the lighter blonde and a mildly shocked one from the darker, "Right. Here," He swayed in the lightly shaded room, heading straight for a mahogany dresser, where he opened both doors and revealed a set of neatly folded and hanged clothes. "I may have something for you to borrow. Otherwise I can ask Ms. Hudson; she should be home now."

All three girls grinned at the idea of meeting the dear old woman, but shrugged their answers to John Watson's predicament.  
"Anything is fine, John." Bella beamed and observed as the doctor ruffled through some clothing, making his way to the bottom on the dresser.

Eleanor stepped forward, clearing her throat to make herself known, "_Three jumpers_, John. That should be sufficient."

He let out a laugh and stared up at them in amusement, "What, really?"

El raised her shoulders and then dropped them effortlessly, glancing at the others, as they followed in a similar action.

John chuckled and shook his head, "Right, okay." He pulled out three rather warm-looking articles of clothing and laid them out on his bed. One was similar to his usual appearance – oatmeal colored and knitted with intricate detail. The other was what he had worn on Christmas, from an episode the girls remembered well; A Scandal in Belgravia. It was navy with a fringe of red and white circular designs. The last on the bed was one they had rarely seen him in – decorated with black and white horizontal lines; they only remembered witnessing him wear it at the end of the episode they were currently living. Annabelle went for the darker, Eleanor for the beige, and Celeste for the striped. They grinned at their temporary gifts and glanced up at John thankfully.

He sent them a quick nod of his head, and then cleared his throat to break the awkward silence, "Well. I'll be downstairs if you need me. Hopefully sleeping," He scoffed, "Let's just hope Sherlock doesn't decide to pull any last minute experiments in the kitchen."

All three let out brief giggles and bobbed their heads in agreement.

"Good night, John." Bella beamed, "Thank you again."

He grinned and left the room with a gentlemanly wave, and closed the door behind him. Annabelle turned to both her friends, each corner of her mouth rising in utter delight to reveal pearly whites. Eleanor winked instantly and began to undress, eager to put on the clothing of Doctor John Watson himself. They each yanked off their current, grimy outfits, and tugged on the jumpers, fitting in each as snug as bugs. They were warm, and smelled faintly of peppermint tea, and musky cologne, causing each breath to be quite an enjoyable whiff of scents.

"I still can't believe we're actually here." Bella said, flattening out the jumper, which hanged just past her hips, allowing her the opportunity to remove the filthy skirt she wore and simply sleep in underwear and the knitted fabric above it – same as Eleanor and Celeste, of whom also removed the jeans they wore.

"Better believe it," Eleanor boasted and leaped onto the neatly made bed, "because I plan on staying a while."

Annabelle snickered and joined her on the mattress, gracefully pulling back the sheets, and slipping under the blankets. She laid her head back onto the pillow, and breathed in the smell of all surrounding her – completely and utterly John Watson.

"Speaking of which," Eleanor began again, sitting up from where she had sprawled outwards, and stared at Celeste who stood clothed in the long, dress-like black and white jumper, with her skinny jeans and purple shirt in a heap beside her. "Why are you _here,_ Celeste?"

The darker blonde narrowed her eyes in suspicion, tugging the sleeves of the jumper over her balled fists, feeling rather put on the spot. "What d'you mean?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes and fell back against the pillow once more, obviously attempting to overtake every inch left of the mattress, "You should be downstairs."

Celeste swallowed, "Why?"

"Uh, hello?" Eleanor snorted, "Sherlock offered you his bed!"

"He didn't offer it to me. John did."

"Yeah, and that's not an offer you simply ignore."

The dirty blonde blushed and sighed in defeat just as El swooped off the bed and shoved her toward the door of the bedroom. "What-" She got cut off as she was forced out into the hallway, leaving her to stand alone in merely a jumper and underwear in the flat of two men; she felt utterly self-conscious.

She reddened severely, and turned to glare at Eleanor's smug expression, "At least give me a sheet or something." The lighter blonde groaned and pursed her lips, heading for John's room once more, before returning with a rather bright orange blanket. _For shock?_ Celeste stifled a smirk, and snatched the cover-up from her friend, instantly tugging it around her figure, hiding all bare skin from view, apart from the occasional slip of leg.

"Now go, Celeste. Be free." Eleanor murmured thoughtfully and grinned a mischievous grin, before disappearing behind John's bedroom door without so much as a good night. Celeste rolled her eyes, and growled irritably, before making her way toward and down the stairs.

Once she had descended, she rounded a corner of the flat toward the living room and found herself staring at a consulting detective, hunched effortlessly over his kitchen microscope. She froze, stilling any steps forward upon observing her setting. John was sprawled out on the length of the sofa, blanket across his chest, and covering merely one leg, as he slept peacefully.

Basically, she was alone.  
With Sherlock Holmes.  
In the middle of the night.  
In nothing but her underwear and a jumper.  
Holy _shit._

An almost inaudible squeak emanated from somewhere within her shivering body length, and she watched as Sherlock lifted his head to gaze directly at her. He was definitely scoping out her appearance, and she was definitely feeling slightly on the insecure side. Damn him and those beautiful eyes.  
She felt as though he had physically rendered her speechless.

"John is asleep as you have most likely observed. If you require his assistance, feel free to wake him." His deep baritone, in such a silent room, was incredibly daunting.

But somehow, someway, Celeste found her voice, "Oh. No, I just –"

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Just _what?"_

She scoffed wearily and shook her head, "Sorry. I – there was not enough room upstairs for me,"  
Sherlock's face seemed to soften as she continued, "I'll just take an armchair."

It was he, this time, who grimaced in amused protest, "Please. Don't be ridiculous. That would hardly be comfortable."

Celeste felt herself visibly shuddering.

"John's right," He went on, returning to adjusting the plate just beneath the lens of his microscope, "I won't be needing my bed tonight. Feel free to utilize it."

She was definitely having a heart attack.  
Possibly dying.  
And for some reason she wasn't terribly concerned.

With a swallow, to help keep her from stuttering, she stated, "Thank you."

Sherlock looked up once more and with a swoop of his eyes and a small smirk, he replied, "Good night, Ms. Winchester."

And to that, she slowly made her way towards his bedroom, blanket loosened just slightly in the gratifying aftereffect of just possibly having been "checked out" by Sherlock Holmes himself.


	11. Coffee, Tea, or Me?

_A/N: So sorry for my lack of updates! It's been hectic! But school is out, woohoo!_  
_Haven't actually seen Annabelle or Eleanor in person in a while, but we keep in contact!_

_I should definitely point out, that the guest who's username was: **Yes,** and posted:** I would've slept naked**, was actually Eleanor.  
You see? She's the same in reality as she is in the story.  
:) love you, El. _

_Okidoki! Enjoy! This is a long one, and I hope you like it!_  
_See that sexy review button? Go ahead and give it a looking, it deserves your attention. ;)_

All the best,  
JB

* * *

**Chapter 11: **Coffee, Tea, or Me?

* * *

John was confused. John was terribly confused. Then again, he figured it was quite self-explanatory. He just wanted one good reason why his cereal, of which he had only just bought a day ago, was nearly all gone. His first thought was perhaps the girls got hungry late at night – but no, he shooed that idea away. All three of them were utterly polite: they would ask, or at least wait till morning.

So, the only explanation, of which angered him thoroughly, was that Sherlock had, in some grotesque way, used his cereal for an experiment. Perhaps how quickly mold can grow on a grain, or how fast each crumb will rot when sustained in some sort of _god-knows-what-it-contains_ solution.

John rolled his eyes and inched the pantry door shut, turning around to face the man bent over his microscope, hair in disarray. He could hear Eleanor and Bella chatting to one another in the living room – most likely each perched in an armchair. They had risen fairly early, much to John's surprise, and had gone on to explain that they were used to it, having to deal with quite demanding occupations _"back at home". _

Celeste, for all he knew, was still snuggled up in Sherlock's duvet. John had wondered where she was this morning only to be met with an instantly smug expression drawn across Sherlock's features – which had, in fact, made him worry. He had asked, and Sherlock had told him, as though it were the most normal thing in the very whole of 221B.

John let out a sigh and turned to the man himself, eyeing him suspiciously as he failed to look up from whatever _"research"_ he was concocting. "Sherlock," John began, "What have I told you about experimenting on the food?"

The consulting detective didn't budge; he merely let out a deep, exasperated breath of air and grumbled, "I haven't touched anything."

John scoffed and nodded his head, taking on a sarcastic manner, as Sherlock finally lifted his head from the microscope. "What did you use it for this time? The progress of dissolution in water? The effect tobacco ash has on grain products?"

Sherlock narrowed both eyes, looked down, swallowed, and then looked back up, "Again: I haven't touched anything – but those suggestions have potential, John. Thank you."

The doctor groaned and trudged to the living room, lifting a hand to the bridge of his nose in aggravation. He neared the two women sat comfortably, the blonde on the sofa, and the darker haired in John's armchair. The blogger smiled and headed for the leather seat, eager to sit before Bella, as she sipped elegantly on a mug of hot chocolate.

"What's the plan for today then, John?" Eleanor grinned from across the room, gulping her own steaming cup of coffee.

John turned to her, beaming pleasantly as he leaned back in the cushioned chair. "Well, I actually need to head down to the clinic. I was going to ask about a job." The doctor blushed slightly and shrugged, "I figured after that I can take you all further into London, and you can do some shopping."

Annabelle grinned happily and bobbed her head in agreement, "Sounds fantastic."

John bit his lip shyly, and both merely looked into one another's eyes, each finding a strange sort of bliss in the other.

"Maybe you should go with him, Bells." Eleanor suggested coyly, smirking as she lifted the mug up to her lips.

Her thoughts centered on the idea of Sarah Sawyer – the clinic, the flirting, the date. Should John meet the woman, would he feel the same about Annabelle? Perhaps sending her friend with the good doctor would remind him of the better woman standing beside him rather than Sarah from the clinic.

Bella turned to her friend in suspicion, one brow arched as she watched her put down her cup, acting as though she was merely an innocent victim in the game of life.

"You know, you're a doctor too," El shrugged genuinely, "You should inspect the clinic, and make sure it's worthy of John's talents." Eleanor grinned as she watched the success of her actions before her eyes – Annabelle reddened, and John cleared his throat, chuckling slightly under his breath.

The army doctor stared straight forward at the woman before him and smirked sincerely, "She makes a good point."

Bella let out a single, sharp, earnest laugh, "She does, doesn't she?" She took a minute to debate the situation, noting the hopeful expression John wore beautifully, and finally nodded in confirmation, "If you don't mind having me, I'd love to tag along."

John clapped jokingly, grinning in approval and leaped up from his seat in Sherlock's armchair, "I believe this calls for a cup of tea!"

Both Annabelle and Eleanor giggled as they bobbed their heads joyfully. Bella watched as John flew into the kitchen, reaching to switch on the kettle. She was terribly excited – it gave her time to spend with John Watson, and, in contrast, it was clear that she would never not have time for the man.

Eleanor turned to her friend, tapping her shoulder and dragging her from her current train of thought. She leaned toward the armchair she sat in and narrowed both eyes, "Is Celeste _still_ sleeping?"

Annabelle scoffed and nodded, "You know how she is. She's rarely ever the early bird."  
She took a sip of her hot chocolate and shook her head in disapproval.

Eleanor rolled her eyes, snorting irritably, "She's probably entranced by the smell of Sherlock's sheets."

Bella chuckled earnestly and slapped her friend on the shoulder, "_Enough!_ Wake her up. If we leave her to sleep, she'll most likely show herself around mid-day."

With a nod of her curly blonde head, Eleanor raised both hands to her mouth and took a deep breath, only to exhale with a loud, ear-splitting shout. _"CELESTE!"_

Annabelle fell startled beside her, throwing a hand to her heart in shock, feeling the erratic pulse of her heart rate beating beneath her fingers. John sprinted from the kitchen cautiously, eyes vibrating over the two women for any sign of trouble. Sherlock merely raised his head from the microscope and narrowed both eyes.

Eleanor shrugged her shoulders and beamed mischievously, "_What?_ She's a light sleeper."

Nevertheless, with perfect timing, Celeste flew from the door of Sherlock's bedroom, tripping mindlessly over her own feet, as she stumbled toward the living room. And it was apparent, that at that moment, Celeste was oblivious to the fact that she was still just wearing a jumper and her knickers.

She flew forward attempting to balance herself out, as her dirty blonde hair tousled over into her vision, a scruffy mess of both curls and straight edges. Her expression was slightly fearful in character, and she quickly came to an abrupt stop upon standing between both the kitchen and living room of 221B.

Eleanor stifled the uncontrollable giggles straining to be set free, and Annabelle's eyes fell open wide in both pity for her friend and nervous amusement. John merely froze on the spot, and all was thrown out of proportion when the shatter of glass against the tile floor had everyone yelping in fright.

Eleanor and Bella turned to glance at Sherlock, who had, apparently, dropped a test tube onto the floor beside him, and was currently struggling to regain himself. The two women then turned to face Celeste once more, who stood shock still, pupils blown wide, her eyes merely fixated on the consulting detective.

Her cheeks were pink, her hair was utterly disheveled, and her hands were fumbling with the jumper, eagerly pulling the fabric down to cover what lied above her thighs. John dropped his eyes shamefully and cleared his throat, eager to break the awkward, amusing silence. Sherlock, on the other hand, was currently staring down at the broken glass, brows furrowed as though he was unsure how it got there. Eleanor and Bella strained to hold onto a sturdy composure whilst their friend stood, nearly half naked, before her crush. And in one smooth motion, Celeste swallowed, nodded her head in embarrassment, and ran a hand through the mess of her blonde hair.

"Sorry," She mumbled, still utterly flustered, "I thought someone was possibly dying." She sighed, bit her lip, and turned back around, jogging speedily back to Sherlock's bedroom.

And then Eleanor let loose – the giggles were unstoppable at that point, running from her mouth like a waterfall of laughter. Annabelle couldn't help herself either – upon hearing her friend bust out into teary snickers, she simply had to do the same. John was red in the face as he quickly hurried to finish preparing his cup of tea, and Sherlock was still frozen, eyes now wide in surprise and, perhaps, a hint of mischievous pride.

It was only when Celeste returned, dressed this time, that everyone went back to what they were previously doing, at a normal pace now, and at least an ordinary complexion. The darker blonde emerged white as a sheet, brows folded down in dread as she slowly made her way toward the black, leather armchair, eager to sit down, and quite possibly attempt to hide away from the world. She didn't speak a word to the smug faces her friends were staring at her with, and merely cleared her throat in a desperate effort to break the ongoing silence.

John took the hint and quickly returned from the kitchen, with two cups of tea instead of one. He leaned towards the dirty blonde huddled up in her own misery on the cozy seat, and lifted one mug towards her, carefully nudging it her way.

She smiled thankfully, and accepted the offer with a sigh of relief, dragging it to her lips, and basking in the warmth and comfort a simply cup of tea could provide. "Thank you."

John grinned and bobbed his head in confirmation, heading back to the kitchen in search of something for breakfast – since, thanks to Sherlock, he couldn't have a calming bowl of cereal.

Celeste sipped the hot beverage before her, taking the moment to shoot both of her friends a horrific scowl from just above the rim of the mug.

Eleanor pouted playfully and let out a giggle, "Come on, Celeste. It wasn't _that_ bad."

Annabelle nodded in an attempt to soothe Celeste's reddened expression, "Yeah, and besides – you have nothing to worry about. Not with a figure like that." It was an effort to relax her friend, as she had always been slightly self-conscious about her body, when she needn't be. She had the body of a tennis player, her childhood sport, and was tall, a bit on the lanky side, but still utterly graceful when she wished to appear so.

Celeste smiled briefly and took another sip of her creamy tea.

"Not only that," Eleanor began, smirking sneakily, "Did you _see_ Sherlock?"

Annabelle bobbed her head in agreement, holding back a laugh as Celeste nearly coughed up her entire gulp of tea.  
The darker blonde swallowed painfully and narrowed her eyes, "What the_ hell_ are you on about?"

Eleanor shrugged, and arched a brow suggestively, "Why do you think he dropped that test tube?"

Celeste was frozen still at her friend's words, utterly motionless, except for the steady blush creeping along her cheekbones.  
Bella grinned and sighed, proclaiming the topic over with, "We're going shopping today - just so you're aware Miss _I-want-to-sleep-until-the-moon-comes-up_."

The lighter blonde giggled, "Yes, and Bells is joining John on his mission of employment."

Celeste arched a brow cautiously, "You mean – where and when he's supposed to meet Sarah?"

Both Eleanor and Bella nodded, confirming their friend's suspicions.

The dirty blonde bit her lip in hesitation, "And we're sure this is a good idea?"

Annabelle dropped her eyes to the mug tucked lightly in the palms of her hands as Eleanor leaned forward, cocking her head to the side in confusion, "What do you mean?"

Celeste lifted her cup to her lips, eager to take a drink before stating, "Well, whatever happened to _not getting involved_?"

Bella cleared her throat in agreement, but quickly shook her head, "Honestly, Celeste? I think we already are involved."

Eleanor nodded, "Deeply."

The darker blonde bit her lip and turned to glance over at the kitchen where John stood, spreading butter along the surface of a toasted loaf of bread, somewhat aggressively, whilst Sherlock continued to glare through the scope of his high-end equipment. Her eyes froze on the detective, taking in the slouch of his slender figure, the placement of his long fingers against the rim of the microscope lens; the way his rich, chocolate curls fell onto his forehead effortlessly, and furrow of his brows. And soon she met his eyes – blue, green, silver and gold – as he lifted his gaze to her own, eyeing her curiously and bemusedly. She swallowed thickly and dropped her eyes to the mug in her hands, eager to replace her sights with something less scrutinizing.

"Well, shall we head out?" John's voice startled everyone from their relaxed state of mind, and the three women quickly regained themselves.

"Sure," Bella smiled sweetly, tugging a little on the rim of her black skirt, feeling slightly ridiculous in the lack of good clothing. They were all merely clad in what they had worn yesterday – a bit ruffled, and torn at, but overall still presentable.

John reached for the coat hanger and removed a small jacket, one of his own most likely, and handed it to Annabelle.  
"Bit nippy out." He beamed as the dark haired girl grabbed hold of the fabric gratefully.

"Have fun you two." Eleanor smirked, and waved jokingly their way, watching as they both snickered and headed out the door. Annabelle's long black hair whirled out around her as she took to the stairs toward the exit, and John held a thumbs-up in the air upon closing the door to the flat.

And then it was simply Eleanor, Celeste, and Sherlock. The lighter blonde faced the two of them, watching as Sherlock remained near his microscope, peering passionately down at the specimens beneath the lens, and Celeste stayed put in the leather chair, sipping elegantly on her still-steaming cup of tea. She bit her lip slyly, and flipped her luscious bright hair.

"Well, I'm going to go downstairs and finally meet Ms. Hudson." She announced, reaching for the handle of the flat door, "No funny business, you hear me?"

Celeste's jaw dropped at her nerve, and she sniggered upon lunging the entry open. Everything was perfect in her little game of matchmaker – _why not take advantage of giving Celeste and Sherlock some time alone?_  
She smiled darkly to herself and shut the door behind her.

* * *

Annabelle walked alongside John as they swayed through the glass entrance of the clinic before them. It was quite homely, for its purpose, of course. Everything was white and tan, giving it a bright vibe as though it were not simply a place full of sick people. The aura surrounding it was somewhat pleasant and joyful, and the nurses appeared helpful and kind in their light blue scrubs, and neatly applied makeup and gracefully done-up hair. Bella looked over at John, who seemed to have fallen into the very idea of the word comfort – he was in his zone, in his element. She couldn't help but smile at his confidence.

They both approached a woman at the front desk, of whom John did not recognize, but Bella knew straight away. Sarah Sawyer – future ex-girlfriend of one John Watson. Annabelle swallowed and watched as John beamed at the woman respectively, nodding his head as he took notice of her _'ready to help' _stance and manner. Bella stood at John's side, taking a deep breath and trying her very best to make it appear as though the army doctor next to her was not single.

"Hi," Sarah smiled politely, standing clad in her white doctor's coat and shiny stethoscope, "How can I help you two?"

John glanced at Bella, only swiftly, and then cleared his throat, "Ah, John. John Watson?"

Dr. Sawyer's light brown ponytail swayed slightly as she lifted her chin in recognition. "Oh! Right, yes. You called about the occupation."

John nodded in confirmation and licked his lips, observing as Sarah gestured to the both of them, "Here, come with me."

Bella swallowed nervously and walked alongside a proud John, following both doctors into another room, just across from the front desk. Private office of Sarah Sawyer – Annabelle inwardly rolled her eyes. The doctor herself made her way toward her messy desk, shuffling through a few stacks of papers before stopping and lifting John's file in her hand, reading through carefully.

"Just locum work." Sarah watched John with narrowed eyes.

"That's fine." John bobbed his head sternly, absolutely glowing with admirable confidence. Bella shifted at his side.

"You're a bit over qualified." Sarah shrugged, chuckling softly.

John cleared his throat and looked down, "I could always do with the money."

She nodded, "Well, we've got two away on holiday this week, and one's just left to have a baby. Might be a bit mundane for you."

John raised both eyebrows and caught a brief glimpse of Annabelle's smug expression, suppressing a mild grin as he grunted a response, "Mundane is good sometimes; mundane works."

Sarah glanced once more at the file and then back at John, "Says here you were a soldier."

Bella took the moment to step in, "And a doctor." Sarah turned her way with an arched brow of suspicion.  
She continued, "And a brilliant one at that."

John beamed at her, lips raised in an adorably praised smile, inching his way just slightly closer to Annabelle's tense stance.

Sarah cleared her throat, her flirtatious act faltering just slightly, "Anything else you can do?"

The darker haired woman stepped in again, "He learned the clarinet at school."

John whirled to face her, eyes widened, brows raised in disbelief, but Annabelle merely fell smug as she watched Sarah's features go from '_continuing her seductive enquiries'_ to _'not interested'_. Bella had been successful in making John appear utterly _taken_, and utterly '_in-a-relationship'_. With a small shrug, she grinned at both doctors in her presence and gently tossed her hair to the side.

* * *

Celeste was still sat in the leather chair that smells so very Sherlock, except instead of drinking from a cup of tea, she was hunched over a sheet of paper, pencil in hand, and sketching quite delicately across the white surface. Her eyes kept jumping up to settle on the consulting detective, who was currently gazing thoroughly at several photographs, of which he had taken earlier with his mobile phone, tapped, pinned and stapled haphazardly to the wall before him.

The silence in the flat was comfortable silence, and Celeste felt utterly at home in 221B, sat curled up on a cozy seat, drawing the very picture before her eyes. She was currently working on the intricate curls of Sherlock's ruffled brown hair, looping the end of her pencil around and outwards in elegant swirls and squiggles.

The piece was coming together perfectly, but when she looked up again to take in more details on the man before her, she narrowed her eyes when noticing that he had changed positions. Suddenly, she was immensely curious on whatever was swarming through his mind and so she carefully cleared her throat, pausing in the efforts of her pencil to observe him more genuinely.

"So," She began, but before she could get in another word, she was abruptly cut off.

"Please don't feel the need to create small talk, Ms. Winchester. I need to think." Sherlock stated bluntly, and pinned another picture to the wall in front of him.

The blonde bit her lip and sighed, "It's Celeste."

Sherlock didn't turn to face her; he merely continued to stare at his visual spider web, "Sorry?"

She shifted in the chair beneath her and raised her chin just slightly, eager to get her point across, "Well, call me Celeste. Unless you're comfortable with me constantly calling you Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock spun gracefully then, eyes landing on the woman sat in his armchair, smirking at his puzzled expression, of which was fixated on the mystery _that is_ Celeste Winchester. "No. Just Sherlock."

The woman nodded and beamed approvingly, going back to the sheet of paper before her, "Great."

The silence now passed awkwardly, as Sherlock was still observing her, with a printed image in both of his hands.  
His eyes glided down to watch her continue her intricate drawing, noting the grace and poise she portrayed upon sliding her pencil this way and that. He noted how her blonde hair gently tousled down into her way, studying the way her nimble fingers gently put it back in place behind a pale ear. He regarded the way she was sitting, her legs folded beneath her on the seat, one arm braced on the corner of a large textbook of which held as a sturdy surface for her drawing, and the other arm grasping firmly onto her art utensil.

He cleared his throat suddenly, eager to snap himself out of whatever haze he had just fallen into, "_Tea?"_

Celeste looked up, peering intensely at the strikingly exotic man before her and nodded, "Please."

He zoomed to the kitchen, flipping the switch to the kettle, only to hear a small voice call out from the living room upon his disappearance.

_"Extra sugar, Sugar."_

His eyes widened at the words and he quickly ducked back into the other room, head tilted in confusion and mild suspicion, "Sorry, _what_?"

The woman was still sat on the armchair, expression blown wide in each and every detail of her endearing features, as she stared fearfully his way. She bit her lip and responded as though utterly oblivious, "Huh?"

Sherlock shook his head, baffled by the mysterious being, "You said –"

"I just said," Celeste swallowed upon interrupting him, "double the sugar. Please."

The detective nodded slowly and returned to what he was doing in the kitchen, mumbling back a simple, bemused, _"Right."_

After a few more utterly awkward moments, in which Celeste inwardly murdered herself over her own stupidity, Sherlock returned, holding a single cup of tea gracefully in his elegant, slender fingers.

He handed it to the blonde and she quickly bobbed her head gratefully, "Thank you."

The detective didn't respond – he merely went for John's red armchair, and carefully sat down, stippling his hands under his chin in his infamous, concentrated, prayer-like position, as his unusual eyes closed in deliberation.

Celeste narrowed her own eyes, noting the fact that she was now holding a cup of tea Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective, made for her, by himself. And to top it all off, on the strangeness level from one to ten, he didn't even have his own cup.

"Where's yours?"

Sherlock cracked open one eye, his expression remaining overtly blank and motionless.

"Your tea, I mean." Celeste reiterated with a dainty smile, lifting the mug to her lips, and breathing in the sweet, soothing scent.

"I'm thinking." Sherlock replied simply, as though that worked as an explanation for just about anything.

Celeste smirked and nodded, "Yes, of_ course_."

The blonde tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, watching as Sherlock's eyes shut again, and then went back to detailing the sketch of her artwork. More minutes passed of further comfortable silence, before Sherlock shot upwards, leaning forward in the armchair, wild eyes fixated on Celeste's frozen position.

"You know, don't you?" He uttered to a very perplexed woman.

She arched a brow and cocked her head, "Know what?"

"Who the murderer is, what's currently going on."

Celeste swallowed, but didn't respond.

Sherlock huffed impatiently, "Tell me Celeste. What's going to happen?"

She shrugged, "Well, you'll solve this puzzle, just like you always do."

"No, I don't mean the case."

"What do you mean then?" Celeste asked with narrowed eyes.

Sherlock hesitated but cleared his throat and spoke anyways, "Come on. Don't be coy. You look at John and I with an almost ever-present fondness, but then," He paused, eyeing the woman before him, "when you think I'm not looking, it turns both hopeful and hopeless at the same time – you seem to appear as though you're haunted by devastation."

The blonde dropped her eyes to the mug of tea in her hands, and the drawing resting abandoned on her lap. He was right – utterly right. Because the current Sherlock and John were the best of friends – solving crimes together, beating bad guys, saving lives. And yet, they had no idea of what was to come. Sherlock's sacrifice, John's anger and despair – and worst of all, the fact that John moves on, because to him, it's the best decision he can make. So, yes, she did feel hopeless and hopeful and devastated because she knew what the future held, what it had in store for the two characters and human beings she loved endlessly – and she knew she couldn't, and shouldn't, stop it from happening.

"What happens to us?" Sherlock asked, eyes narrowing in concentration as he observed the expression of the woman sitting across from him, "Do we die? Hate one another?"

Celeste shook her head, "I _can't._"

Sherlock nodded, suddenly appearing apologetic, "I suppose not."

"It could throw everything off. Change things."

"Right." The detective shut his eyes once more, and returned to his position of application.

Celeste swallowed desperately, wishing the man would continue to speak to her, so instead she leaned forward, further toward him, "Sherlock."

"Hm?" He hummed, eyes still clenched shut in concentration.

"Just promise you'll trust me enough to tell me."

He faced her at that moment, expression absolutely mystified by her words, observing as she fell back against the soft leather of the armchair she sat on. "Tell you what?"

Celeste bit her lip, "You'll know – when the moment comes. You'll know."

Sherlock tilted his head suspiciously, and sent her a single nod of confirmation before she smiled and went back to her drawing.

* * *

"Now that _is_ quite the story," The frail old lady snickered softly, getting to her feet, as Eleanor completed retelling the adventure she was now titling, _'The Unexpected Road Trip'_.

"Yeah, Sherlock and John have been wonderful – letting us stay in their space and all." Eleanor stated gratefully and grinned at Ms. Hudson as she handed her a biscuit and then proceeded in sitting back down to face her.

"Golden hearts – the _both_ of them. John's a miracle, and, even if you wouldn't believe it, Sherlock is one of the most gentlest of people." The little lady beamed, and it was clear to Eleanor just how fond the woman was of her neighbors.

"My friend's are right where they want to be – right under their noses. They're obsessed with the two of them – they both have crushes the size of elephants." Eleanor expressed while chomping on her ginger biscuit.

Ms. Hudson let out a soft laugh and shook her head, "Whatever do you mean dear?"

The blonde shrugged, "Well, they're helplessly in love."

The old woman guffawed in disbelief, and grinned an incredibly wide grin, "Oh my, how fantastic!"

Eleanor smirked and nodded, "Hm, yes. You see, my friend Annabelle has a date with John, and their relationship is brewing quite nicely."

Ms. Hudson nodded, faintly bemused – which was understandable.  
She had, of course, thought John was gay since the moment she first met him.

"Sherlock and Celeste _on the other hand_," Eleanor feigned an exhausted pant, "they're a bit more difficult."

Ms. Hudson beamed happily and leaned forward, "And _you_? Who do you love helplessly?"

The lighter blonde turned to the woman, eyes wide, brows raised; frankly, she was surprised she had bothered to ask.  
"Well, I don't think any of them would approve of my choice in man."

Ms. Hudson giggled and shook her head defiantly, "Oh dear, what does it matter what they think? If you love someone and they make you happy, it's the best thing in the world."

Eleanor bit her lip coyly and blushed, "I suppose you're right, Ms. H."

The little old lady swatted her arm playfully, "Of course I'm right, dear."

Eleanor grinned and thought of the very man she couldn't help but have fallen in love with – slicked back, charcoal black hair, pure pupil-less black eyes, and the stance of sex itself. Oh yes, she definitely _was_ helplessly in love.

* * *

Annabelle and John returned to the entrance of 221B, stopping just outside the flat as John turned to the woman next to him, eyes narrowed and playfully suspicious. "How did you know?"

Bella arched a brow, _"Hm?"_

"How did you know I played clarinet at school?"

The dark haired woman shrugged and smirked sneakily, "Would you believe me if I told you I deduced it?"

John scoffed and grinned wide and bright, "Not a chance."


	12. Clothes and Revelations

A/N: wow, I'm so terribly sorry for the wait - I am a failure. I went on a 3 week vacation and have been utterly jet-lagged.  
But here you go, I hope you enjoy, and please let me know in a review that you're still reading!  
Love you all! All the best!

*hugs* *runs away and hides*

-JB xxx

* * *

Clothes and Revelations

* * *

If there is one thing Celeste Winchester is aware of, it's the fact that London has the most amazing representations of the modern fashion world. John had returned with Bella, and both blondes had pounced on her, desperate for gossip, for drama, for scandal. Annabelle had dragged them to the side, they had discussed the 'Sarah' situation, and the two bright haired women had gasped in awe and wiggled in victory. Sherlock had ignored (or possibly was too caught up in his own mind to notice) the four of them as they bustled about, preparing themselves for a bit of shopping, and accepting too-big shoes from Ms. Hudson's frail hands, which had supposedly hailed from the depths of her closet. John had grabbed his wallet, tossed them each old jackets, and held the door wide for their retreat. They'd each called a small 'goodbye' to the detective sat in his black, leather armchair, merely receiving, as response, a whirling dismissive hand. So they left the flat and followed John into a black cab, which took them across from Baker Street, toward Oxford, where they exited excitedly sprinting through the entrance of Selfridges.

Oh, and what a sight it was – perfume stands filled the entirely too-large room, each smell hitting the three of them as they entered; fruity and sharp, classy and spicy, and a mix of everything in between. Make-up was on display, with polished mirrors, women standing in black dresses and skirts, eager to persuade you to take interest in their products. And that was just the first floor. Above were clothes, designer items by the dozen, and only for women – aisles and aisles of gowns, and outfits portraying the names of famous fashion artists. Employees gossiped to themselves, awaiting the queries of customers, and women of all ages, and sizes, stood, scoping out the products, the merchandise, admiring their wide selections, while their husbands sat off to the side, arms cluttered with Selfridges' bright yellow shopping bags. The girls had a fiesta, even though they were staying clear of the designer garments, and sticking nearer to the sales, and cheaper clothing racks. All in all, they each acquired a set of five full outfits, still remaining under the highest length of their budget. Annabelle had, of course, scooted farther over to the more sophisticated side of the mall, whilst Eleanor had dug into the jeans, and frilly tops, and comfortable slip on shoes. Celeste had admired a bit of both, moving from denims to slacks, to skirts and dresses, not to mention spending most of her time surrounded by classy high-heels and wedges. John had merely beamed respectively at their choices, seemingly carefree, as he followed the women around the giant store, bobbing his head as they asked him innocent questions, and discreetly spending most of his time observing Bella's decisions in clothing. They left with heavy arms, bearing all their yellow plastic bags containing their multiple garments and accessories.

And, there were plenty of pounds left for John and Bella's date.

**xxx**

Upon returning home, John unlocked the front door to 221B and all three girls instantly jammed their way inside, shoving one another accidently, as they hurried into the flat, eager to shower and change into fresh, luxurious clothing. John couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in mute amusement, as he shut the door behind him, and shuffled into the living room, spotting Sherlock in his leather armchair, fingers, formed like a prayer, stippled beneath his chin infamously. He approached him, making his way over to the detective's wall of photos and assumptions.

"I said, _'Could you pass me a pen?'_" Sherlock uttered irritably, as though impatient or exasperated with John's actions.

John narrowed both eyes, turning in his steps to better face his flatmate, "What? When?"

"'Bout an hour ago." Sherlock replied, posture unmoving, unflinching.

"Hadn't noticed I'd gone out, then." The doctor reached for a ballpoint sat forgetfully on the length of the flat's coffee table, and, without looking, tossed the black pen toward Sherlock, of whom caught it swiftly in his hands. "So," John began with a small, mischievous chuckle.

Sherlock tilted his head suspiciously and furrowed his brow, "So, _what?"_

The blogger took one last look at the map of papers and prints, and then plopped onto the cozy cushion of his red armchair, smirking in utter glee.  
"So, when do you think they'll realize we only have _two_ showers?"

As if on cue, a door slammed, and Celeste came running down from upstairs, bare feet slapping the ground speedily, as she raced toward the second bathroom of the flat. John let out a snort, watching as she disappeared behind the walls, and then listened carefully, hearing yet another door slam, and more footsteps headed back towards himself and Sherlock.

And so, Celeste reappeared, eyes downcast, shopping bags no longer littering the whole of her lanky arms. Sherlock turned to face her, brows arched in bemusement, as John continued smiling knowingly. She sighed, ruffled her blonde hair with nimble fingers, and then slowly stepped toward the sofa, sitting politely, with her arms folded in her lap, legs crossed, and shoulders hunched over. She glanced from Sherlock to John and then rolled her eyes, shaking her head simultaneously. "You only have two bathrooms."

John nodded, smirk in place, _"Yes."_

Celeste bobbed her head agreeably, and then turned to glimpse at Sherlock's smug expression, his hands resting at the of the armrests, his legs crossed gracefully, his shoulders shrugging her way.

"Not fast enough?" He questioned, head cocked mockingly.

Celeste reddened in shame and cleared her throat, shifting slightly, and noticing that Sherlock's features softened minutely, merely minutely, at her overt embarrassment. "I lost rock-paper-scissors."

John scoffed and nodded again, "Ah, I see."

Swallowing nervously, and trembling with the need to change the subject, Celeste gestured to the ensemble of photos and diagrams behind her.  
"Anything new?"

Sherlock, of whom had been staring quite intricately her way, shook his head to break his train of thought, and grunted in confirmation, "Yes, actually."

John's brows furrowed and he watched Sherlock in open interest, to which the detective responded with, "Have a look," and a flick of his head, directing the doctor toward his laptop sat atop a table cluttered with papers and files.

Celeste watched eagerly from the sofa, as John quoted the title of a small news report, broadcasted across the screen of Sherlock's (or possibly John's) computer, "The '_intruder who can walk through walls._'"

The consulting detective stayed utterly still, eyes fixated on the darker blonde as she turned back his way, lips twitching at the corners in silent excitement. "Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."

John swallowed, straightened and then looked back at Sherlock, "God. You think…"

Celeste bobbed her head affirmatively, "He's killed another one."

* * *

When Sherlock and John return from their further investigating into the case, it is painfully obvious just how excited they are, and at the same time, frustrated.

Bella, Eleanor and Celeste are fully dressed and clean, and after having received a spat of how lucky they are Celeste didn't just leave to join the boys on the case, they got comfortable and began going about their own pastimes.

Annabelle scoped through the bookshelf in the messy living room, observing and searching for an interesting novel to begin and occupy herself with; of which, she found a medical book, going through human anatomy in great detail and expressing valid points.

Eleanor had already turned the TV on, absolutely fascinated with the outlook of British Television, entertaining herself thoroughly as she surfed the channels and finally landed on Doctor Who, an episode dealing with a nasty crack in the wall.

Celeste searched through the mess of papers on the dining table, thankfully finding her drawing from earlier, and beginning to continue it, currently shading each luscious curl on Sherlock Holmes' head. She'd get to his beautiful face later – it had to be perfect, just like him.

She hadn't realized she'd said that out loud. Eleanor had laughed and shaken her head, "You're so cheesy."

About an hour after that, the boys had returned, exhausted and eager to reveal just what was going on in the blasted case. Sherlock had trotted straight over to his wall of photos, and John had planted himself beside Bella, smirking at the book in her hands, as she blushed gloriously.

The consulting detective hadn't even spared a glance at the women sat in the living room, whilst John had admired them wholly, appreciating the appearance of three beautiful women dressed in new clothing, smelling fresh and fruity.

Bella was sat charmingly, laid back in John's armchair, a tight-fitted back skirt hugging her thighs wonderfully, and a frilly, laced white top, tucked in and fluffy out at the sides of her waist and hip area. Pearl earrings gripped her ears, along with a matching necklace and bracelet, looped around her neck and her wrists.

Eleanor was comfortable on the sofa, clad in skinny jeggings, and a pink baggy shirt of rich quality, bearing the illustrious portrait of a rather gorgeous pink unicorn, along with a speech bubble to the side, stating, "Meow". Her hair was decked out with a bright cherry shaded bow, popping wildly in the midst of all her bright blonde curls.

Celeste was simply dressed in a plain black skirt, reaching midway between her thighs and her knees, and a white tank top, bearing the Union Jack magnificently. They all smelt like the mango and coconut shampoo and conditioner John had purchased, and were lightly corded in a sweet scented perfume, resembling a mix of roses, and cotton candy.

John seemed to continuously gaze at them, noticing, not only their appearance, but more as he watched them go about doing their own things, nearly missing Sherlock's mumbled deduction as he stared, intrigued, at the posted images and prints.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in."

John flinched, eyes leaving the drawing in Celeste's hand, and returning to the detective at the other side of the room. Bella lifted her head as well, eyes narrowing knowingly, aware of how the case ends but still wholly interested in watching the boys work. The lighter blonde carried on watching Doctor Who, too enraptured by all the chaos caused, because of the so-called _'crack in the wall'_. The darker blonde froze in her sketching and shading, elevating the pencil for a moment to listen to the rambling Sherlock Holmes.

"Hours later, he dies."

John got to his feet, joining Sherlock by the wall, frowning as he continued to fall enthralled by the depths of concentration.  
"The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes _home."_

Celeste cleared her throat, nodding her head encouragingly to add input, "Late that night, _he_ dies too.

John bit the side of his cheek, turning and glancing over his shoulder incredulously at the blonde for a moment, same as Sherlock, before turning back to the photos and questioning their relevance, "_Why_ did they die, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head and swallowed, tapping a small picture of the spray painted message. "Only the cipher can tell us."

Yet again, the detective was off, snatching up his coat and heading for the door of the flat, leaving John standing perplexed at the wall of printed images.

Celeste grunted and bobbed her head firmly, leaping to her feet and tucking the drawing discreetly to the side. "Right then, I'm coming with you."

Sherlock arched a brow, "Oh, _really?"_

Celeste smirked and approached him, eyes burning with an unspoken challenge, stopping just in front of his chest, and cocking her head daringly. "Yes_, really."_

For once, Sherlock seemed rather doubtful. His eyes squinted together curiously, and his mouth opened as though he longed to respond but physically couldn't. And then his expression fell to one of observation, so Celeste decided to do the same – to _observe_. She gazed at his features, noticing the slight sign of tired eyes, only just baggy and droopy from lack of sleep – something he wouldn't admit to, of course. His irises were as magnificent as ever; green, blue, silver, gold – bright and starry like a supernova, the Van Buren Supernova, if she was being clever.

His hair was disheveled from the constant ruffling his fingers took part in and his brows were furrowed in a rigorous frown. His suit was pristine as ever, perfectly ironed, not a crease nor crinkle when he stood so utterly straight. She waited and admired his beautiful appearance as his eyes darted inquisitively over her face and her figure, as though just noticing the new clothes and fresh, fruity smell now.

And then, causing her to experience both dread and a rush of adrenaline, Sherlock smirked his all too familiar smirk.

With a flourish, he was off, scarf in hand as he zoomed out of the flat, leaving Celeste in the awkward position of being overtly stared at. She turned slightly, having forgot there were others in the room, and took in the expressions of her two friends, and John Watson. Each appeared utterly content, Eleanor grinning like a madwoman, and Bella biting her lip knowingly. John simply cleared his throat, and followed after Sherlock, chuckling as he scurried out of the room. Celeste blushed, inhaling nervously and reached for one of her new pairs of shoes, which she had placed beside the exit of the flat. Her two friends shook their heads cheerily and joined her, as they pursued both boys out of 221b.

* * *

"I'm going with _you_ this time." Eleanor declared, grinning at Bella pointedly, where she stood beside John as they awaited the, currently, decelerating taxicab. Annabelle narrowed her eyes, questioning her friend's motives, just as El flicked her head over to Celeste's position, and then to Sherlock's.

With a nod and a smirk, Bella turned her attention toward the darker blonde, "Here, Celeste." She announced and stepped away from the taxicab that had just pulled over. The artist and writer perked up and smiled innocently, stepping lightly forward, and sliding in and onto the leather seat, through the open door of the vehicle.

John then took the hint, and twisted to face Sherlock, who was staring expectantly and somewhat impatiently at the cabdriver. Arching a brow, the detective took in John's overt expression and deciphered it quickly enough, leading him to enter the cab with a few shuffling steps. And then, beaming brilliantly, Eleanor slammed the door shut and tapped the cab on its rear, watching as it boosted into drive and took off onto the streets of London.

**xxx**

Sherlock had glanced out the window, seemingly taken aback by the actions of his flatmate and the women beside him, before turning to the already driving cabbie and stating, "Trafalgar Square."

Celeste shifted in her seat, clearing her throat, and staring out at the city as they drove by in hushed noises and untouched tension.

"Why do you do that?" Sherlock asked, and the question broke the silence like a firework in the dead of the night.

The blonde jumped in her hunched posture, turning to the detective with wide eyes and pursed lips, "What d'you mean?"

Sherlock's expression was blank, as though he didn't want Celeste to see any betraying emotions, as though he was angry at his _'transport'.  
_"You come across as timidly shy and silently submissive." He stated, multicolored eyes burning into the plain hazel brown of Celeste's own.  
She shrugged at his statement, but, apparently, he wasn't finished.  
"But then, and rather suspiciously, you become a sudden burst of stubborn confidence, and inarguable persistence."

Celeste scoffed bashfully, wringing her fingers in her lap, eager to change the subject, just a bit. "Have I _baffled_ you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

He stared at her, emotionlessly, besides the slight hint of nervous admittance, "No. I was simply curious."

The blonde smiled in admiration and shrugged, yet again, "Isn't that a bit – I don't know – _sentimental_ for you?"

Sherlock smirked to himself and shook his head obstinately, "Curiosity can bring out the worst in people. One can be so determined to discover something they long to know, and in a mere moment they can overlook everything important to them," He stopped there, clearing his throat and bobbing his head once, as though finalizing his point, "So, _no._ Not sentimental."

Celeste blushed, rather taken by his description, and quickly sighed, shaking her head, preparing herself for revelation, "Right. Well," She swallowed, "I'm not like you. I'm not a genius, and so,_ sometimes,_ I don't know things, and when I don't know things, my confidence falters," She bit her lip, sparing a glance at Sherlock's empty features, all but bare, besides the small glint of a curious oddity, "And so it works the same in reverse – when I do know something, I'm confident, I'm stubborn." She hunched her shoulders, up, and then down, "I suppose it's simply a _sensitive insecurity_ thing."

Sherlock groaned and shook his head, "Oh, _dull."_

For a moment, Celeste was achingly hurt by his statement, but when she whirled to face him, she noticed the wide smirk sprawled across his face, playful and teasing. She grinned back, her heart warming with the utmost amount of affection, as she watched him turn forward once more, distracted by their arrival at Trafalgar Square.


	13. Winged Rats and Questions of Love

_A/N: There are no words I could possibly create, or form, or put together that could possibly explain how sorry I am this has taken so long._  
_It honestly is depressing, but school just got entirely in the way. I haven't even updated Clockwork in a month! (If you are reading that, I'm on it. This weekend!) Please forgive me for the delay of this chapter. Real-life Eleanor hasn't let me forget how long it's been. SO SO SORRY. _  
_I love you all! Review to let me know if you're still with me! Thank you and all the best! *hugs so tightly, so so so so so tightly*_

* * *

Winged Rats and Questions of Love

* * *

"Winged rat." Eleanor spat irritably at the small, grey bird hobbling about on the full concrete ground.

Celeste let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head, amusingly exasperated by her so very opinionated friend.

"Columbidae," Bella stated firmly from where she was sprawled out along the steps of Trafalgar Square, eyes shut tight against the dull light of the sun, her head resting against the incline, black hair smoothed out around her voluminously.

Arching a brow, Celeste turned to her friend, strands of blonde spinning and swooping down and across her pale face, "What?"

"Columbidae," Annabelle sighed with a shrug, "The scientific name for pigeon."

Celeste nodded in understanding, but before she could speak a word, Eleanor had scoffed, hands flying forward to shoo the animal away, "Winged rat sounds better."

With a smile, Celeste cleared her throat and gazed at the artistry of her surroundings, the beauty of the monument before her, sculpted lions lying proud, bold, backs arched, and the architecture of the museum behind her marvelously compelling. "Did you ever think we'd make it here?"

Bella opened both eyes and lifted herself upward, a subtle frown marring her features, "Where, to the world of Sherlock? Can't say I saw it coming."

Celeste cackled but quickly shook her head, shoulders hunched as she sat forward, back curved and hands in her lap, "No. _Here_, as in London. England."

Eleanor let out a snort, "Hell no."

"I mean, do you guys remember the trips we planned?" Celeste continued, reminiscing, mind whirling back to their high school years, "We were going to stay on Baker Street, attend Cambridge; _hell_, I was damn determined to become a wax figure in Madame Tussauds."

Both Eleanor and Bella bobbed their heads, hair bouncing, eyes widening at the memories, smiles lightening their features beautifully.

"But what happens instead of all that? Well," Celeste turned to her companions, smirk lining the plush line of her lips, "We get sucked into our television set and meet bloody Sherlock Holmes."

With a giggle, Annabelle got to her feet, extending her hand to both of her friends, who gladly accepted and hoisted themselves upward, grins still gracing their blissful expressions, "It certainly is a better story to tell, isn't it?"

Celeste nodded, smiling brightly at her friend, before glancing over her shoulder, and directly at the museum, spotting Sherlock jogging quickly across the steps of Trafalgar Square, coat billowing out behind him, a single aura of uniqueness in a crowd of normality. Celeste inched forward, prepared to meet him halfway, as he was steadily headed towards them. Bella and Eleanor rose from their cozy positions in the relentless sun and followed their friend, eager to proceed with the case, eager to proceed with the alternate universe they had somehow found themselves trapped in.

"So?" Celeste grinned, gazing up at the man she admired far too obsessively.

"Let's go," Sherlock clipped, glancing over his shoulder in his retreat toward the busy streets of London, seeking the transport of a handy dandy taxicab.

"What why?" Eleanor scoffed, shaking her head at the man striding hurriedly before them.

"Because I got what I needed," the detective sighed, as though utterly exasperated with the questions and the nagging.

"Where's John?" Bella piped up from behind the crew, narrowing her eyes as they rapidly reached the street, Sherlock tossing his hand into the air and effortlessly waving down a cab. Celeste frowned, anxiously glancing over her shoulder in search of the small man, silently wracking her brain for just where they were in the current script.

"Otherwise preoccupied," Sherlock snapped, ducking into the hailed cab, sliding into the seat closest to the opposite window, and whipping his phone from his coat pocket, typing eagerly across the keys. All three girls arched their brows and stared at the man in the vehicle, awaiting some notion as to why they were leaving so suddenly, and without John Watson.

The detective merely lifted his eyes from the device he had only just seemed overtly transfixed on and shrugged his shoulders at the girls gawking at him, "Are you coming or not?" He grunted, grumbling under his breath, "You're more than welcome to stay; just because John is physically absent does not mean I'm on babysitting duty."

Taking the hint, Celeste climbed in, followed by a nonchalant Eleanor, and a weary Bella, of whom fitted herself into the front seat.

"Baker Street," Sherlock commanded with a prolonged sigh of exhaustion, turning back to his phone, and further tuning out even the mere silence of the three girls squeezed into the seats surrounding him.

* * *

Sherlock was staring at his wall of photos and paper clippings, and Celeste was staring at him. More than staring, she was admiring. Gazing admirably. She had, of course, originally been sketching, noting the curve of his back and furthermore the curls of his hair, but had accidentally, or purposely (who knew), gotten distracted, merely holding her graphite pencil and the small sketch book John had allowed her to purchase at one of the many stores they had willingly succumbed to.

"Yoo-hoo?" Eleanor interrupted, waving a hand in front of her friend's face, just slightly grazing her nose, "Googley-eyes; anybody home?"

Celeste scoffed in embarrassment and mutely bobbed her head, gazing up at the light-haired blonde standing directly in front of her, and peering down at her position in the leather armchair, "I was simply observing."

Eleanor only stared wide-eyed, expression obvious and brow frowned in agreement, "Yeah. His _ass."_

With her mouth dangling open, Celeste glared at her friend, appalled by her words, yet strangely amused, and overtly bewildered. She wasn't exactly used to checking out guys. Admiring what was in front of her, whether they were godly or scum, wasn't something she normally did. She openly ignored boys throughout high school, so much so half the kids in her classes thought she played for the other team. It wasn't that; she didn't have a preference. She just didn't concern herself with romance, other than the characters in her books. She had always been the quiet, distant, intimidating outcast tucked away in the corner of the room, sheets of paper surrounding her, words sprawled out in script across their white surfaces, guides to her stories, dialogue for her creations, rough drafts and updated plans.

"_Language,_ El," Celeste quickly reprimanded, only to be mockingly laughed at, Eleanor throwing her head back as she laughed and plopped herself into John's red armchair, facing her darker-haired, blonde friend with a knowing look.

"Don't change the subject," Eleanor grinned, leaning back in her seat and watching the woman before her like a counselor or therapist would decrypt their patient, "He's really getting to you, isn't he?"

With a loud scoff, of which she glanced over at Sherlock after, Celeste shook her head and continued her sketching, shading the arch of the detective's backside, "I don't know what you mean by that, El."

"Don't play dumb Celeste; we all know you aren't," The lighter blonde smirked, and then flicked her head towards Sherlock, still silently observing the photographs, eyes flickering at a speed that should really appear unnatural but merely looked absolutely invigorating, "You're falling for him as fast as ice cream melts during the summertime in Florida."

With a small, barely-there grin, Celeste shrugged and let out a small giggle at her friend's comparison, "I fell for him a long time ago, El. It's just that, now, it's actually becoming a reality."

Eleanor peeked over at the self-proclaimed sociopath further deducing factual evidence about the case whilst they merely sat observing him peacefully, admiring from behind, "I believe it could happen."

Celeste frowned and stopped sketching, "What?"

Eleanor shrugged, "You and Sherlock."

Celeste let out a sharp laugh, teasing and mocking as she went about drawing once more, rattling her head back and forth in exasperation, "Yeah, right."

"Well, why not?"

"Because," Celeste growled, frustrated with herself, "He's, well, Sherlock. And I'm just – well, I'm just me."

"That's my point," Eleanor narrowed her eyes, "How exactly are you arguing your side here?"

Beaming, Celeste sighed and chuckled quietly to herself, "Eleanor, think about it. What do I really have to offer him? He's so much – I don't know – _more._ Better."

The lighter blonde jumped to her feet, shaking her head in amusement, and exhaustion, as she scowled at her friend, a glare steadily tainting her expression, "Celeste Winchester," She snapped, "How dare you speak like that?" She then turned to Sherlock, prepared to wake him from his observations, eyes stern and menacing, unwilling to take no for an answer.

"Eleanor," Celeste scoffed, brow furrowing in dread, "What're you doing?"

"Sherlock!" Eleanor exclaimed, and within an instant, the detective was turning in his stance, expression slack and emotionless, obviously aggravated after having been knocked from his inner thoughts, the depths of his mind palace.

He arched a brow, as if to mutely say, _"Yes?"_

"Is Celeste not a beautiful, genuine, talented, intelligent young woman worthy of your standards?" Eleanor stated, bluntly and to the point, not really giving a shit whether she was making anyone feel uncomfortable, anxious, or vulnerable.

Sherlock merely stood shock still, mouth opening and closing multiple times, his entire being flustered and seemingly terrified of mouthing a single word.

Suddenly, a door slammed downstairs and within an instant Annabelle was sprinting towards the front entrance of the flat, swinging it open excitedly upon spotting John in the frame. The retired army doctor appeared entirely fatigued, eyes dreary, corners of his mouth downturned in frustration and exasperation.

Sherlock turned, facing John, frowning openly, before returning to fixing his gaze on his board of case goodies, "You've been a while."

John scoffed, walking into the flat, shoulders rigid and fists clenched, features churning into a look of pure outrage, "Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?"

With an angry half-smirk of sarcastic nature, John stepped further into the living room, past Annabelle, Celeste and Eleanor, of whom were all watching him observantly, and, somewhat, amusedly. "Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I've got to be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday."

Holding back a snort, the three girls glanced downward as Sherlock absently tilted his head towards his flatmate, "What?"

John surged forward and jammed a finger towards himself, scowling at the detective of whom sat utterly still and uncaring, "Me, Sherlock, in court, on Tuesday! They're giving me an _ASBO!"_

Nodding, Sherlock continued to peer at his case files and images, "Good. Fine."

"You wanna tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up any time," John murmured to himself angrily, shaking his head in obvious spite, as he began slipping off his jacket.

"This symbol: I still can't place it." Sherlock suddenly whirled around, past the three women and towards John, reaching for the man's jacket and instead of helping him take it off, he merely forced it back on again, "No, I need you to go to the police station."

_"Oi, oi, oi!"_ John exclaimed as he was turned around toward the door, steered by the consulting detective hurrying by him.

"Ask about the journalist," Sherlock commanded.

With a huff of exhaustion, John sighed, "Oh, _Jesus."_

"His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements."

And then, the two of them were rushing out of the flat, and gone within an instant.

"Well," Eleanor swallowed, smirking, "Perhaps you're scarier than I thought, Celeste. One simple question and he ran."

Scowling, Celeste punched her friend playfully on the shoulder, brows furrowed in a sulk, "That's not funny."

Annabelle shrugged, "I thought it was pretty funny."

Celeste sent the dark-haired girl a simple glare and then sighed, slowly rising from her seat in the armchair, and glancing over at the wall bearing the whole of Sherlock's cluttered case information.

"So, do we follow them?" Bella questioned, observing the board as well, gazing blankly at the dozens of photographs.

"Where are we in the case?" Eleanor asked, eyes narrowed as she inched her way toward the point of interest, her fingers grazing an image of the Chinese code for "_dead man"._

"He got peckish." Celeste stated, mind in another world, staring off into the unknown.

"Sorry, what?" Bella scoffed, shaking her head in confusion as her blonde friend spat out nonsense.

"_He got peckish._ Sherlock is going to see Van Coon's PA, who will show him the receipt's. The receipt will lead Sherlock to _Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano_ because Van Coon got _peckish_," Celeste explained, eyes wide as she grinned, "John is led to the same spot after finding the diary of the journalist."

"Celeste, you are _brilliant_!" Eleanor boasted, grabbing her friend's hand and leading her towards the location of their shoes, Bella following quickly behind, "You and Sherlock were practically made for one another."

Snorting, loudly and unattractively, Celeste rattled her head to the side in denial, amused by her friend's optimism and willingness to comfort her.  
With a bright smile, Eleanor beamed at her friends, eager and excited, "So, off to the _Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano_!"


End file.
